Laeramle  Donation 


Screencraft 


BY 

LOUIS   REEVES    HARRISON 
k 


PUBLISHED  BY 

CHALMERS  PUBLISHING  CO. 

17  Madison  Avenue 
NEW    YOPvK    CITY 


Copyright  in  the  United  States,  1916 

Copyright  in  Great  Britain,  1916 

Copyright  in  Canada,  1916 

by 

CHALMERS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


(All  Rights  Reserved) 


INDEX 


Shifting  Fancies  and  Celestial  Lights 5 

Skeleton  and  Soul 9 

Beginnings 15 

Totality  of  Effect 22 

Present  Day  Issues 34 

Making  a  Scene 43 

The  Five-Reel  Feature 47 

Sex  Drama •  • 54 

Human  Emotions 64 

Detective  Stories 73 

Secrets . . 77 

Titles  and  Subtitles 85 

Plots,  Many  andj  Varied 89 

Intelligent  Characterization 99 

Acting  That  Is  Not 105 

Picture  Composition Ill 

Illustrations  Analyzed 115 

Picture  Inspiration 119 

A  Working  Scenario 123 

Examples  of  Form 142 

773825 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 

Screen  visualization,  so  little  understood  by  those 
who  should  be  among  the  first  to  grasp  its  possibili- 
ties, is  a  composite  art,  its  parts  so  combined  that  they 
lose  their  distinctive  characters,  to  an  end  that  the  com- 
plete product  becomes  an  instrument  of  thought,  a 
medium  of  expression  more  direct  than  printed  lan- 
guage. This  new  art  has  been  misjudged  because  of 
its  early  examples  and  its  use  for  low-priced  entertain- 
ment, but  its  evolution  has  been  rapid  in  spite  of  erro- 
neous opinions  of  men  devoted  to  one  or  another  of  the 
parent  arts  of  expression  from  which  it  sprung.  Many 
established  principles  of  the  older  arts,  while  applicable 
to  the  new  one,  have  to  be  adapted  to  its  ends. 

From  constant  study  of  the  readjustment  of  old 
principles  to  this  new  relation,  and  from  many  years 
of  practical  experience  in  nearly  all  departments  of 
motion-picture  production,  is  drawn  what  appears  un- 
der the  title  "Screencraft."  The  book  is  intended  to 
help  in  formulating  a  new  art,  not  that  the  art  may 
appeal  to  the  delicate  sensibilities  of  the  super-cultiva- 
ted, but  that  it  may  adequately  respond  to  the  needs 
of  plain  people  the  world  over  through  addressing  their 
sympathetic  intelligence. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


SHIFTING  FANCIES 

and 
CELESTIAL  LIGHTS 

THE   GREATNESS  OF   THE   MOVING   PICTURE   DRAMA 

WHEN  there  came  unheralded  into  our  midst  a 
new  art,  that  of  visualizing  movement  and 
sensation,  agitation  of  mind  and  soul,  tendency 
of  desires  and  passions,  it  was  the  second  art  to  appear 
during  the  Christian  Era,  the  first  being  that  of  pro- 
ducing printed  matter  by  the  composition  and  Imposi- 
tion of  type  during  the  Fifteenth  Century.  Both  were 
undervalued  at  the  outset,  because  scientific  develop- 
ment had  not  overcome  a  certain  crudity  of  early  ex- 
amples; both  were  aided  during  their  evolution  by 
collateral  arts,  and  both  grew  in  popular  favor  despite 
a  lot  of  envious  criticism  from  men  who  should  have 
been  the  first  to  welcome  any  means  of  advancing 
common  progress  through  dissemination  of  truth. 

Even  now,  among  the  privileged  few  who  take 
themselves  seriously,  who  have  acquired  an  intellec- 
tual aloofness  from  what  is  easily  comprehended  by 
ordinary  people,  there  are  many  who  reach  false  con- 
clusions about  the  production  of  moving  pictures  by 
the  dangerous  route  of  pure  reason  based  on  wrong 
premises.  They  regard  the  new  art  as  purely  reflective 
because  it  lacks  precedent  and  tradition  and  is  intro- 
duced apologetically,  not  yet  having  acquired  a  full 
dress  of  glossary.  No  single  and  all-embracing  term 
such  as  "literature"  or  "drama"  has  yet  been  found  to 
fit  it.  It  is  wearing  altered  clothes  of  its  elder  brothers, 
with  "photo"  and  "moto"  patches  that  add  neither  to 
the  strength  nor  to  the  beauty  of  its  vocabulary. 

The  egotism  of  misinformation,  more  destructive 
than  the  egotism  of  simple  ignorance,  has  caused  men 


6  SCREENCRAFT 

who  should  know  better  to  depreciate  the  value  of 
moving  pictures.  The  new  art  is  not  strong  in  the 
hearts  of  people  because  it  is  democratic,  not  because 
they  have  dominated  it,  for  they  have  not.  They  have 
gone  by  millions  to  contemplate  its  work  because  of 
the  direct  nature  of  its  appeal  and  because  that  appeal 
has  been  so  strong  that  it  has  enabled  them  to  forget 
a  great  deal  that  mars  everyday  existence.  To  the 
generous  support  of  common  people  it  owes  its  vitality, 
not  to  those  cultivated  individuals  who  have  achieved 
intellectuality  by  long  study  of  rare  models  in  the 
older  arts. 

Said  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning: 

The  growing  drama  has  outgrown  such  toys 

Of  stimulated  stature,  face  and  speech; 

It  also  peradventure  may  outgrow 

The  simulation  of  the  painted  scene, 

Boards,  actors,  promoters,  gaslight  and  costume, 

And  take  for  a  worthier  stage  the  soul  itself, 

In  shifting  fancies  and  celestial  lights, 

With  all  its  grand  orchestral  silences 

To  keep  the  pauses  of  its  rhythmic  sounds. 

In  place  of  "sounds"  she  might  have  been  completely 
prophetic  had  she  used  "motion."  Edward  Gordon 
Craig,  much  in  evidence  as  a  reformer  of  the  drama, 
declares :  "There  is  a  thing  which  man  has  not  learned 
to  master,  a  thing  which  man.  dreamed  not  was  waiting 
for  him  to  approach  with  love ;  it  was  invisible  and  yet 
ever  present  with  him.  Superb  in  its  attraction  and 
swift  to  retreat,  a  thing  but  waiting  for  the  approach 
of  the  right  men,  prepared  to  soar  with  them  through 
all  the  circles  beyond  the  earth — it  is  Movement.  It 
is  somehow  a  common  belief  that  only  by  means  of 
words  can  truths  be  revealed.  Words  explain  the  law 
of  two  and  six,  images  delineate  the  relation  of  four 
and  eight,  but  what  of  that  infinite  and  beautiful  thing 
dwelling  in  space  called  movement?  And  I  like  to  sup- 


SHIFTING  FANCIES  AND  CELESTIAL  LIGHTS    7 

pose  that  this  art  which  shall  spring  from  movement 
shall  be  the  first  and  final  belief  of  the  world." 

All  the  arts  of  expression  have  frontiers,  but  they 
are  growing  more  neighborly,  those  frontiers  are  being 
crossed  and  recrossed,  until  artists  of  broad  viewpoint 
are  beginning  to  realize  that  separation  of  interest  will 
be  replaced  by  a  community  of  interest,  which  will 
subordinate  tradition  and  eliminate  prejudice.  If  true 
creative  genius  has  something  to  give  the  world  and 
lacks  skill  in  the  older  crafts,  he  may  find  his  way 
through  the  new  one  now  in  a  formative  stage,  even 
through  others  yet  unborn.  True  genius  will  be  less 
embarrassed  by  the  art  that  has  been  and  turn  his  face 
to  the  art  that  has  never  been,  will  draw  popular  ap- 
proval by  what  is  new,  original  and  capable  of  infinite 
variety  of  expression  rather  than  surrender  the  prod- 
ucts of  imagination  to  a  clamor  from  the  sordid  and  the 
unthinking.  His  medium  will  be  of  secondary  impor- 
tance to  his  message  or  to  that  most  real  of  all  teal 
things  in  men  of  creative  imagination,  sentiment,  but 
he  will  invoke  the  new  art  in  vain  if  he  is  not  sincere. 

"All  art,"  says  Sheldon  Cheney  in  his  advocacy  of  a 
new  movement  in  theatrical  presentation,  "is  a  matter 
of  nature  or  life  acted  upon,  by  man ;  a  part  taken  out 
of  the  accidental  surroundings  and  given  artistic  form." 

In  viewing  any  great  artistic  masterpiece  we  our- 
selves cannot  always  interpret  the  message.  Alone 
we  cannot  even  guess  at  the  noble  conceptions  the 
artist  imprisoned  in  his  creation.  We  feel  the  need  of 
outside  help.  We  feel  like  invoking  the  Spirit  of 
Motion. 

A  lifeless  landscape ;  a  stretch  of  glossy  sea ;  what  a 
wondrous  change  comes  when  invisible  forces  stir 
them  to  action !  We  associate  life  with  action,  with  the 
exercise  of  mind  and  body,  and  death  with  the  absence 
of  it.  The  Spirit  of  Motion  has  already  raised  the  dead 
as  if  by  enhancement  and  she  holds  out  both  hands 


8  SCREENCRAFT 

to  True  Genius  that  he  may  stir  millions  with  his  in- 
spirations, that  his  celestial  light  of  truth  may  reach  all 
humanity  through  this  art  that  is  without  confusion  of 
tongues.  Says  the  Immortal  Bard,  who  in  compassing 
little  comprehended  much: 

The  idea  of  her  life  shall  sweetly  creep 

Into  his  study  of  imagination, 

And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  life 

Shall  come  apparell'd  in  more  precious  habit, 

More  moving — delicate  and  full  of  life, 

Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul. 


SKELETON  AND  SOUL 

OR 
THE  NEED  FOR  GOOD  CRAFTSMANSHIP 

THAT  there  should  be  such  a  thing  as  technical 
workmanship  in  a  scenario  for  screen  production 
comes  to  many  ambitious  writers  as  a  somewhat 
disagreeable  surprise;  it  may  be  received  with  incre- 
dulity, and  it  has  even  awakened  resentment.  The  art 
is  so  new  that  it  would  hardly  seem  as  though  time 
enough  had  elapsed  for  any  remarkable  degree  of  skill 
to  have  been  acquired  in  its  various  departments, 
whereas  men  of  high  native  ability  have  been  hard  at 
work  for  many  long  years  with  no  other  object  in  view 
than  perfecting  both  artistic  and  scientific  methods  of 
screen  visualization,  and  these  men  have  developed 
with  their  work,  each  in  his  way  becoming  a  craftsman. 

Adequate  knowledge  of  language  may  be  required  by 
the  novelist,  of  harmony  by  the  composer,  of  stage  re- 
quirements by  the  dramatist,  and  even  a  painter  has 
to  learn  how.  Though  they  may  be  veritable  artists, 
they  are  obliged  to  become  craftsmen  as  well,  and  to 
assume  that  no  skill  is  required  in  the  construction  of 
a  screen  story  which  satisfies  millions  of  minds  is  noth- 
ing better  than  assumption  and  often  worse,  a  mere 
supposition  incapable  of  being  proved. 

While  the  new  craft  is  developing  along  lines  of  in- 
dependence, some  of  the  oldest  conventions  of  litera- 
ture and  the  drama  survive  in  it  and  even  flourish,  par- 
ticularly "the  unities"  and  the  technics  of  impartiality, 
playing  fair  with  the  characters.  On  the  other  hand, 
partially  because  the  art  is  divided  into  formulation  by 
the  author  and  treatment  by  the  director,  and  more 
largely  because  the  use  of  language  is  very  limited, 
being  confined  to  a  few  telling  words,  usually  those  of 
conversation,  the  author  need  not  be  embarrassed  be- 


10  SCREENCRAFT 

cause  he  is  unacquainted  with  that  overfed  darling  of 
literature  known  as  "Style." 

The  author  needs  clarity  of  expression  in  the  sce- 
nario, knowledge  of  construction  and  some  ability  to 
inspire,  but  his  general  equipment  need  not  include 
mastery  of  all  the  formidable  intricacies  of  language. 
He  may  start  with  the  same  small  prospect  of  imme- 
diate and  adequate  return  for  outlay  of  time  and  effort 
he  would  encounter  as  a  novelist,  or  as  a  dramatist,  but 
the  field  is  wider,  and  it  is  constantly  widening  for 
those  who  labor  with  sincerity  and  determination. 

Given  an  unfailing  font  of  creative  imagination,  in 
itself  native,  the  way  to  successfully  meet  the  competi- 
tion of  skill  is  to  acquire  skill.  The  author's  craft 
being  that  of  formulation,  he  can  save  thousands  to 
the  producer  through  systematization  of  the  work  in 
advance  of  treatment  and  interpretation,  thus  raising 
his  own  value  through  his  craft.  It  is  not  enough  to 
have  an  imaginative  and  selective  mind — the  author 
should  LEARN  HOW  to  conquer  the  minds  and 
hearts  of  those  who  sit  in  the  shadow  and  closely  scan 
the  illuminated  screen.  The  creative  soul  may  be  native 
— its  finest  expression  is  acquired. 

The  scenario  of  a  photodrama  has  been  very  reason- 
ably compared  to  the  foundation  and  framework  of  a 
house — even  in  its  simplest  form  it  is  the  basis  on 
which  the  visualized  story  is  built,  and  a  genuine  work- 
ing scenario  rises  so  high  as  to  establish  the  entire 
general  design.  No  matter  how  elaborate  and  beautiful 
the  finished  structure,  its  character  is  bound  to  be 
deeply  affected  by  what  gave  it  configuration,  but  it 
might  be  nearer  the  truth  to  call  it  a  skeleton.  It  is  a 
dead  thing  in  physical  appearance,  must  be  covered 
With  the  pulsing  flesh  of  life  before  it  is  particularly 
attractive,  but  with  it  goes  that  invisible  spirit  which  is 
only  manifested  in  the  complete  form,  the  soul  of  the 
story. 


SKELETON  AND  SOUL  11 

Strip  a  popular  novel  of  its  highly-colored  verbiage ; 
denude  it  of  those  words  which  control  the  writer's 
flights  of  imagination ;  remove  superfluous  traces  of  the 
medium  through  which  he  has  given  his  ideas  expres- 
sion, even  to  his  literary  tricks  of  exciting  curiosity 
and  fanning  the  flame  of  suspense,  and  it  is  possible 
to  reach  a  scenario  of  the  book.  There  remain,  the  mo- 
tive, the  characters,  the  situations,  the  incidents  illus- 
trating motive  and  character,  and,  if  it  is  a  story  worth  ^* 
screen  visualization,  one  dominating  thought.  These 
materials,  newly  arranged  in  a  continuous  succession  of 
dramatic  scenes,  by  methods  either  analytic  or  syn- 
thetic, can  be  brought  into  an  entirely  new  unity  of 
narrative  for  direct  presentation  to  the  eye. 

This  new  arrangement  is  so  far  removed  from  being 
that  of  stage  plays,  and  to  a  less  degree  from  most  nar- 
rative arrangements  of  prose  fiction,  that  it  is  perilous 
to  quote  from  governing  laws  of  the  older  arts.  There 
is  also  a  danger  of  imposing  restrictions,  the  risk  of 
replacing  spontaneous  composition  withithat  of  ineffec- 
tive artificiality.  But  all  story  telling  mediums  are 
more  or  less  akin,  and  what  applies  to  one  often  applies 
to  all,  the  adjustment  of  background  to  character,  the 
focussing  of  attention  upon  people  and  events  destined 
to  play  the  leading  parts  in  reaching  desired  results. 

People  sitting  in  the  semi-obscurity  of  a  motion  pic- 
ture theater  cannot  lay  aside  the  five-reel  screen  story 
and  take  it  up  again.  They  cannot  refer  back  to  what 
has  not  been  made  entirely  clear  to  them.  They  are  to 
watch  the  performance  without  intermissions.  There 
must  be  a  concentration  of  action  and  characterization 
in  what  is  shown.  Diversions  so  dear  to  the  dramatist 
and  to  the  novelist  are  worse  than  confusing — they  are 
destructive  to  sustained  interest.  Pretty  little  side 
stories  of  subordinate  characters  are  not  for  the  screen. 
A  handful  of  main  characters  is  enough  for  practical 
as  well  as  for  artistic  reasons — close-up  scenes  are  in 
very  small  scope,  and  the  average  mixed  audience  be- 


12  SCREENCRAFT 

comes  easily  confused  in  attempting  to  follow  what  is 
happening  to  more  than  five  people  in  the  swiftly 
changing  scenes. 

The  opening  pictures  may  well  be  devoted  to  the 
characterization  of  one  or  more  principals,  even  if  their 
lives  are  moving  in  widely-separated  channels.  The 
hero  may  be  a  soldier  dominated  for  the  moment  by 
war  lust,  the  heroine  a  hospital  nurse,  saving  life  while 
he  is  bent  on  destroying  it.  He  may  be  a  gentle  clergy- 
man expounding  on  faith,  she  a  girl  of  the  slums,  an 
unconscious  Christian  in  good  deeds.  One  whole  reel 
of  a  strong  play  was  effectively  devoted  to  the  charac- 
terization of  a  two-sided  man  about  whom  leading 
events  clustered.  The  audience  knew  him  when  he 
came  to  be  the  important  factor  in  all  that  transpired. 

Prompt  characterization  not  only  wins  sympathetic 
interest,  but  it  aids  in  making  a  logical  series  of  events 
plausible.  During  this  preparation,  in  itself  a  delicate 
forewarning  of  complications  to  follow,  there  should  be 
an  equally  delicate  intimation  of  the  story's  trend,  just 
a  few  notes  of  the  theme  may  be  sounded.  There  is  a 
wrong  being  done;  there  is  a  complication  set  up 
which  is  bound  to  result  in  cross  purposes  or  a  clash 
of  individual  desires;  there  are  entanglements  to  be 
straightened  out;  there  is  a  theory  to  be  proven;  there 
is  a  problem  to  be  solved — whatever  the  eventual 
scenes  of  tension,  however,  the  main  action  should  be 
preceded  by  an  unfolding  of  the  minds  and  hearts  of 
those  who  interpret  that  action. 

What  are  the  people  in  the  story?  What  are  their 
relations  to  one  another?  What  compelling  influences 
are  bringing  them  together?  What  needs  readjustment 
in  their  conduct?  Intense  drama  is  concerned  largely 
with  those  forms  of  evil  which  grow  out  of  ignorance, 
principally  our  ignorance  of  one  another.  We  lead  up 
to  a  crisis,  an  effect  of  which  lack  of  enlightenment  is 
usually  the  cause.  False  ideas  in  the  mind  of  one  cause 
the  mental  suffering  of  others.  Out  in  the  audience 


I 


SKELETON  AND  SOUL  13 

our  sympathies  are  enlisted,  and,  from  our  superior 
standpoint,  we  enjoy  having  error  punished  as  an  ex- 
ample for  certain  people  we  know. 

Having  introduced  the  characters  'and  opened  up  a 
possibility  of  struggle  between  the  opposing  forces, 
during  three  or  four  reels,  we  begin  somewhere  about 
half  past  four  *  an  exciting  promise  of  consequences. 
That  promise  must  be  fulfilled.  If  the  story  becomes 
entangled,  there  can  be  no  shirking  of  responsibility 
by  dying  confessions — the  situation  should  be  worked 
out  with  the  same  skill  that  worked  it  up,  else  fine 
structure  and  artistic  treatment  are  in  vain.  We  have 
built  a  noble  house  and  covered  it  with  a  leaky  roof. 

It  is  not  fair  to  judge  any  art  by  its  immature  ex- 
amples, else  we  would  infer  from  screen  stories  that 
the  sole  object  of  following  a  picture  narrative  to  the 
end  is  that  of  watching  two  young  people  embrace  just 
as  the  orb  of  day  sinks  behind  distant  hills,  or  the  fire  in 
the  grate  grows  dim.  Of  course  the  human  race  must 
be  perpetuated,  but  an  audience  may  grow  skeptical  if 
Washington  is  shown  crossing  the  Delaware  that  Jen- 
nie may  be  enfolded  in  the  arms  of  Jim.  Nine  out  of 
ten  screen  stories  do  not  end  that  way — they  subside. 
The  scenario  writer  who  offers  such  a  spineless  com- 
promise after  a  crisis  of  definite  and  logical  conclusions 
lacks  craftsmanship  if  not  artistic  conscience. 

With  a  definite  theme  in  mind,  with  salient  qualities 
of  leading  characters  defined,  the  author  of  a  five-reel 
story  has  time  to  dispose  of  minor  conclusions  on  his 
way  to  the  main  point.  As  far  as  it  is  possible  to  do 
so,  he  should  clear  his  path  of  lesser  issues  on  ap- 
proaching the  plot  culmination,  so  that  it  may  imme- 
diately precede  his  final  scenes.  That  pictured  stories 
so  often  suffer  from  one  form  or  another  of  anti-climax 
is  largely  due  to  the  absence  of  a  complete  working 
scenario  in  the  beginning — an  ineffectual  attempt  is 

*Indicating  middle  of  fifth  reel. 


14  SCREENCRAFT 

made  to  replace  forethought  with  badly  articulated 
afterthought. 

Above  all  things  should  a  scenario  convey  the  spirit 
of  the  story,  even  if  this  has  to  be  done  by  explanatory 
foot  notes.  That  people  sit  emotionless  before  screen 
portrayals  is  less  due  to  faults  of  the  medium  than  to 
false  use  of  it.  Failure  of  the  author's  creative  imagina- 
tion far  more  than  faulty  instrumentality  or  inadequate 
interpretation  is  accountable  for  soulless  photodrama. 


BEGINNINGS 

OR 
THE  WRITER'S  ATTITUDE  TOWARD  SCREEN  WORK 

IT  MUST  be  admitted  that  at  present  most  of  the 
popular  and  profitable  screen  productions  are  from 
men  unheard  of  in  the  other  arts,  and  that  the  real 
stars  of  screen  portrayal,  those  who  are  making  money 
for  the  exhibitor,  gain,  in  the  great  majority  of  cases, 
no  great  reputation  from  their  chosen  work.  Yet,  in 
spite  of  all  this,  the  men  who  buy  and  distribute  fea- 
tures lay  great  stress  on  reflected  light,  the  flash.  The 
explanation  of  this  is  the  influx  of  theatricalism  and 
the  inability  of  those  who  buy  and  distribute  to  judge 
of  merit.  It  is  easier  to  go  by  past  decisions,  and 
therefore  to  revive  something  that  has  once  lived  and 
counted  in  one  of  the  other  art-forms.  The  flash  covers 
a  multitude  of  sins.  And  this  state  of  affairs,  such  as 
the  popularity  of  some  old  novel  or  worn-out  play,  may 
just  as  well  be  taken  into  consideration  from  the  start 
by  the  author  of  original  photodrama.  For  he  is  "up 
against"  a  condition. 

The  beginning  of  a  photodrama  thus  possesses  an 
importance  beyond  that  of  artistry.  There  is  a  com- 
mercial value  in  a  first  reel  which  compels  attention  or 
which  so  excites  curiosity  that  prospective  buyers  may 
be  led  into  a  more  intelligent  examination  of  the  whole 
story.  Even  though  it  may  contain  a  wealth  of  thought, 
display  a  rare  charm  and  grace,  be  replete  with  the 
magic  of  sustained  interest  in  its  big  scenes,  it  may 
never  be  a  child  of  the  sun,  delight  millions  with  its 
glory,  if  its  first  act  fails  to  make  an  impression.  To 
be  profoundly  careless  of  this  first  impression  may, 
therefore,  mean  a  highly  artistic  inability  to  earn,  one's 
daily  bread. 

To  get  at  the  heart  of  a  story  at  once  without  endan- 

15 


16  SCREENCRAFT 

gering  interest  in  its  crisis  may  plunge  the  photoplay- 
wright  into  a  mental  whirlpool  of  indecision,  but  the 
way  out  may  be  as  easy  as  that  of  a  melodrama  hero 
thrown  into  a  sewer  where  the  water  rose  higher  and 
higher  during  a  series  of  exciting  scenes  until  it  reached 
his  face,  when  he  calmly  swam  out  by  an  exit  not  avail- 
able until  the  water  had  risen.  It  is  not  always  neces- 
sary to  begin  at  the  beginning  in  photoplays,  and, 
there  being  no  arbitrary  starting  point,  one  may  plunge 
into  the  middle  of  his  subject  without  qualms.  Ante- 
cedent causes  and  circumstances  may  be  shown  in  the 
course  of  action  immediately  preceding  a  crisis.  To 
what  extent  this  may  be  done,  however,  without  a 
lapse  of  sustained  interest,  is  a  matter  requiring  nice 
judgment.  Opportunities  for  failure  at  the  high  point 
are  multiplied  by  the  number  and  extent  of  previous 
explanatory  phases  to  be  pictured. 

A  three-reel  mystery  story  of  fine  development 
opened  with  a  rapid  succession  of  incidents,  including  a 
bitter  quarrel  between  two  men  closely  followed  by  the 
murder  of  one.  Commonplace  in  subject,  the  develop- 
ment proved  to  be  unusual  and  of  high  interest.  Aside 
from  the  evidence  pointing  straight  to  one  man,  there 
was  not  the  slightest  clue  to  the  real  murderer,  not  a 
visible  motive,  not  a  character  other  than  the  accused 
man  capable  of  the  deed.  The  author  now  set  up  an  en- 
tirely new  line  of  action,  itself  quite  sensational,  lead- 
ing gradually  to  the  first,  though  there  had  apparently 
been  no  previous  association  of  the  main  characters.  It 
was  a  daring  expedient  to  reach  the  edge  of  a  crisis  and 
turn  back  for  a  gradual  solution  of  the  mystery,  but  it 
succeeded. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  a  number  of  able  critics  have 
written  learnedly  on  various  forms  of  creative  compo- 
sition, there  is  little  to  offer  in  the  way  of  rules — sug- 
gestions are,  however,  permissible,  and  that  is  about  as 
far  as  one  writer  can  go  in  helping  others.  There  are 


BEGINNINGS  17 

instances  without  number  to  show  that  it  is  unwise  to 
always  plunge  into  the  thick  of  the  struggle,  and  it 
will  become  apparent  to  the  writer  of  screen  stories 
that  he  is  at  his  best  when  he  has  a  free  hand.  It  need 
not  be  taken  for  granted,  therefore,  that  any  one 
method  of  introducing  characters,  theme  and  action  is 
to  be  blindly  followed,  but  there  are  many  considera- 
tions, artistic  as  well  as  commercial,  which  favor  at- 
tacking a  photodrama  near  its  end. 

An  audience  can  be  held  by  interesting  personalities 
during  the  opening  of  a  stage  play;  the  novelist  may 
keep  our  minds  aglow  by  the  power  of  his  own 
thoughts  until  his  narrative  is  under  way;  the  photo- 
playwright  may  not  indulge — he  has  to  depend  largely 
upon  what  can  be  made  visible  of  characterization,  mo- 
tive and  movement.  He  may  get  at  character,  pene- 
trate motive  and  set  action  going  on  in  a  way  to  hold 
attention  while  preparing  for  important  situations,  but 
his  problem  bristles  with  difficulties  if  he  follows  a 
straight  line  from  his  earliest  events  to  his  terminal 
position. 

To  the  gentlemen  engaged  in  trading  between  the 
creator  and  the  user  of  photoplays  it  may  seem  almost 
laughable  that  a  scenario  writer  should  take  infinite 
pains  with  his  work,  but  it  is  to  be  expected  that  audi- 
ences will  grow  more  and  more  exacting — that  is  in 
accord  with  experience — and  the  standard  of  technical 
excellence  must  be  constantly  raised.  The  number  of 
writers  for  screen  production  is  rapidly  narrowing 
down  to  those  who  do  take  pains  and  who  are  capable 
of  concentration  upon  large  themes  and  their  effective 
visualizations. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  a  live  beginning  may 
help  to  tide  over  that  period  of  preparation  which 
nearly  always  precedes  the  really  big  scenes  in  a  play. 
It  can  often  stimulate  anticipation  of  good  things  to 
come,  and  it  should  certainly  operate  to  put  the  spec- 


18  SCREENCRAFT 

tator  in  the  responsive  state  of  mind  of  an  im- 
pressionist. 

Because  there  is  no  surety  that  the  methods  of  one 
author  will  prove  a  safe  guide  for  another,  and  because 
any  didactic  effort  to  stimulate  creative  work  may 
sterilize  it,  or  lead  to  dull  imitation,  illustrative  exam- 
ples are  of  doubtful  value.  The  idea  of  a  story  should 
germinate  in  the  author's  brain  and  be  accorded  large 
freedom  from  technique  in  its  growth.  Essayists  dwell 
on  the  subject  of  technique  because  it  affords  them 
the  joys  of  a  voyage  of  discovery — it  is  ever  new.  Each 
born  story  teller  originates  methods  of  manipulation 
entirely  his  own,  yet,  if  one  torch  lights  another  in  the 
matter  of  artistic  execution,  a  few  examples  from  fea- 
ture plays  may  do  no  harm  at  this  stage  of  the  dis- 
cussion.. 

1.  A  five-reel  adaptation  from  a  successful  stage  play. 
There  was  little  promise  of  suspense  necessary  to  hold 
an  audience  through  five  reels,  and  the  unsatisfactory 
ending  was  a  handicap,  but  its  reputation  insured  a 
good  sale,  and  it  was  up  to  the  adapter  to  conceive  of 
a  method  which  should  not  wholly  disregard  the  au- 
thor's purpose,  and,  at  the  same  time,  please  the  mil- 
lions of  people  who  might  see  it  on  the  screen.  The 
story — 

A  weakling  employe  with  a  sweet  wife  steals  from 
his  employer,  a  self-avowed  old  sensualist,  a  hard,  cruel 
and  unscrupulous  sea  captain.  The  weakling's  defalca- 
tions are  discovered,  to  the  delight  of  his  employer,  for 
the  latter  has  long  been  infatuated  with  the  former's 
sweet  young  wife.  The  weakling,  knowing  what  to 
expect  if  his  wife  falls  into  the  power  of  the  captain, 
deliberately  sends  her  late  at  night  to  the  latter's  den 
to  adjust  matters  so  that  he  will  not  have  to  go  to  jail. 

What  would  a  man  of  the  captain's  character  do  ?  He 
would  act  in  accord  with  the  qualities  which  had  dis- 
tinguished him  through  life  unless  there  was  an  un- 


BEGINNINGS  19 

revealed  soft  spot  in  his  hard  heart.  Why  not  closely 
examine  that  character,  open  up  some  wild  experiences 
aboard  ship  in  the  past,  and  expose  his  relations  with 
the  sweet  young  wife,  while  exciting  curiosity  and  as- 
sembling forces  for  the  high  scenes? 

He  is  discovered  in  the  first  scene  recovering  from  a 
debauch  in  a  private  dining  room.  In  a  moment  of 
self-disgust,  he  recalls  some  former  experiences.  In  the 
interim  a  jeweled  hand  issues  from  portieres  at  his 
right,  the  beckoning  hand  of  sensuality.  Down  at  the 
root  of  his  character  is  the  cave  man.  He  rises  in  con- 
tempt and  opens  a  window  at  his  left.  A  light  streams 
in,  the  light  shed  upon  his  mind  by  the  influence  of  one 
pure  woman,  the  one  given  in  marriage  to  his  weakling 
clerk.  He  sits  down,  lights  a  cigar  and  pictures  experi- 
ences in  her  presence,  as  covetous  as  ever,  dominated 
by  the  predatory  instincts  of  the  male,  yet  it  could  be 
seen  that  her  refinement  might  hold  him. 

That  first  reel,  devoted  entirely  to  characterization, 
held  as  well  as  the  high  scenes,  though  it  was  entirely 
out  of  the  stage  version.  Its  meaning  was  not  thrust 
upon  the  audience  by  sub-titles,  but  was  felt.  The 
photoplay  was  a  decided  success  and  proved  to  be  one 
of  the  most  profitable  of  the  year. 

2.  Like  it  in  financial  returns  and  artistic  success  was 
an  adaptation  from  a  stage  play  which  had  failed  in 
New  York  and  was  comparatively  unknown  through- 
out the  country,  the  story  of  a  woman  driven  by  the 
cruelty  of  a  gambling  husband,  the  loss  of  her  only 
child,  and  by  ill  health,  combined  with  extreme  poverty, 
to  the  verge  of  suicide.  The  stage  play  drifted  away 
from  the  first  and  main  line  of  interest  to  the  operations 
of  a  gang  of  swindlers  aboard  a  transatlantic  liner  in 
mid-ocean  and  became  badly  tangled  through  the  in- 
troduction of  minor  characters  and  a  lot  of  irrelevant 
matter.  The  dramatist  apparently  had  a  first  concep- 
tion of  merit  and  went  astray  in  an  attempt  to  please  a 


20  SCREENCRAFT 

Broadway  following  with  picturesque  variety  —  he 
thought  he  had  his  finger  on  the  feverish  pulse  of  his 
public.  There  was  an  immediate  question  of  elimina- 
tion involved.  The  cast  was  cut  in  two  and  the  main 
line  of  interest  thoroughly  established  for  photoplay 
purposes  before  "picturesque  variety"  could  get  in  its 
deadly  work. 

Scene  First  is  decidedly  impersonal.  All  that  is  in 
view  is  the  top  of  a  table  on  which  are  a  small  bottle  of 
poison  and  a  white  rose  in  a  half  glass  of  water.  The 
rose  is  drooping  and  several  of  its  petals  have  fallen. 
Scene  Second,  in  larger  scope,  shows  the  same  table, 
and  presently  a  thin  and  trembling  hand  reaches  for  the 
poison.  Then  the  woman  is  revealed  and,  by  double 
exposure,  her  reasons  for  committing  suicide.  She  is 
saved  in  this  first  attempt  by  the  sudden  coming  of  a 
former  suitor,  an  ex-gambler  who  proves  to  be  the 
Nemesis  of  her  dissolute  husband,  but  she  is  finally 
induced  to  take  the  poison  by  her  husband,  and  he 
leaves  her  for  dead,  failing  to  join  her  in  ending  their 
lives  together.  The  contents  of  the  bottle  are  not  poi- 
sonous; the  woman  recovers,  she  crosses  in  the  same 
ship  as  her  husband,  and  he  becomes  mastered  by  the 
idea  that  his  dead  wife  is  haunting  him. 

Clever  piece  of  double  exposure  in  this  photodrama, 
one  which  drew  a  round  of  applause  at  the  Strand,  was 
devised  by  the  writer  of  the  scenario,  but  ingeniously 
developed  by  the  director.  The  haunted  man  is  looking 
over  the  side  of  the  ship  and  sees  his  wife's  accusing 
face  in  the  water,  a  face  that  vanishes  in  the  foam  and 
reappears  in  the  dark  water. 

3.  A  modern  five-reel  feature,  dealing  with  a  vital 
phase  of  the  European  War,  presents  a  strange  condi- 
tion in  the  first  reel,  a  marriage  between  a  daughter  of 
Polish  nobility  and  an  American  attached  to  the  Red 
Cross  service,  which  could  be  disclaimed  by  either  of 
them,  though  it  is  legally  performed  in  the  presence  of 


BEGINNINGS  21 

many  witnesses,  including  the  bride's  father.  The  wed- 
ding has  been  hurried  by  the  approach  of  military  oper- 
ations, and  a  distant  battle  is  in  progress  during  the 
services.  Miles  away  from  the  private  chapel  in  which 
the  young  couple  are  being  united  a  small  battery  of 
artillery  has  been  thrust  forward  to  search  out  the 
movements  of  enemy  troops.  One  of  the  guns  is  ele- 
vated to  find  the  range,  and  the  shell  from  it  drops  into 
the  wedding  party  at  the  altar  immediately  after  the 
bride  and  groom  have  passed  into  an  adjoining  salon. 
The  shell  fatally  wounds  the  father  and  kills  all  others 
in  the  chapel. 

The  swift  series  of  events  that  now  follows  is  entirely 
dependent  upon  one  chance  shot  from  a  masked  bat- 
tery. The  play  opens  with  an  inanimate  scene,  that 
of  a  cluster  of  bushes.  No  human  being  is  visible  at 
any  time  in  this  scene.  Slowly  the  muzzle  of  a  cannon 
is  thrust  through  the  bushes,  and  it  is  covered  by  a 
few  branches.  At  various  times  during  the  progress  of 
the  first  reel,  the  menacing  muzzle  of  the  weapon  is 
shown;  its  "roar  of  death"  may  be  expected  at  any 
moment ;  it  strikes  a  keynote  of  the  story,  arouses  an- 
ticipation; and  is  the  unconscious  factor  in  the  lives 
of  important  people,  if  not  in  the  destinies  of  a  nation. 
The  determining  factors  of  a  story  spring  from  a 
source — "the  point  of  attack."  And  it  is  the  "point  of 
attack"  that  does  much  to  make  or  mar  the  effective- 
ness of  a  fine  film  production. 


TOTALITY  OF  EFFECT 

OR 
REALISM,  POETRY,  AND  REVELATION 

WORSE  than  ignorance  is  a  false  idea  that  takes 
possession  of  healthy  human  minds  and  per- 
verts what  might  otherwise  be  good  judgment. 
Such  is  the  mistaken  association  of  realism  in  drama 
and  literature  with  unvarnished  truth — the  application 
is  more  truly  that  of  critics  to  varnished  fiction.  They 
seized  upon  a  term  which  ordinarily  defines  a  form  of 
philosophy  and  applied  it  to  what  had  the  appearance 
of  being  an  effort  to  exhibit  literal  reality  in  the  arts, 
whereas  the  true  artist  appropriates  the  facts  of  life  as 
so  much  rough  material  from  which  he  constructs  an 
existence  more  marvelous  than  that  we  daily  look  upon, 
better  calculated  to  arrest  and  hold  attention  when  it 
delves  into  hidden  secrets  of  the  soul  or  offers  ideals 
through  which  common  human  nature  hopes  to  attain 
perfection.  It  is  very  doubtful  whether  any  creative 
author  merely  describes  what  he  knows,  or  thinks  he 
knows,  about  his  own  life  or  that  of  his  neighbors, 
even  if  able  to  make  it  all  less  vulgar  than  reality.  He 
depends  largely  upon  his  imagination.  To  critically 
ignore  that  fact  is  to  attempt  to  solve  the  problem  of 
creative  art  by  denying  its  source. 

It  is  quite  possible  that  realism  exemplifies  what  is 
said  of  persons  and  events  of  the  day  in  which  the 
author  lives,  that  it  is  a  short  word  for  contemporane- 
ousness combined  with  plausibility.  What  kind  of 
realism  is  it  when  his  story  antedates  his  experience? 
It  is  even  dangerous  to  go  back  a  generation  in  a 
search  for  truth.  That  supposed  exponent  of  realism, 
Ibsen,  causes  Doctor  Stockmann  to  say  in  "An  Enemy 
of  the  People"  that  most  truths  cease  to  be  such  after 
twenty  years'  time.  The  great  Norwegian  poet  held 

22 


TOTALITY    OF   EFFECT  23 

strongly  to  the  idea  that  the  rights  of  an  individual 
were  superior  to  those  of  society  as  composed  of  indi- 
viduals. His  bold  theories  were  those  of  a  revolu- 
tionary idealist  asserted  through  mastery  of  his  craft. 
His  speculations  were  made  intelligible  through  sim- 
plicity of  method,  but  his  people  and  events  were  as 
unreal  as  his  convictions  were  vacillating.  He  was  at- 
tempting to  get  at  great  truths  through  vigorous  ideal- 
ization. 

Such  is  the  case,  within  individual  limitations,  of 
thoughtful  authors,  whatever  their  medium  of  expres- 
sion, that  of  painting,  that  of  sculpture,  that  of  the 
printed  or  the  uttered  word,  that  of  visualization  on 
the  screen.  Whatever  the  art  process,  there  is  an  ideal- 
ization to  stir  thought  or  feeling,  to  make  us  conscious 
of  our  souls.  Consistency  is  a  jewel  of  this  art  struc- 
ture and  plausibility  of  its  treatment.  Harmonious 
agreement  in  all  parts  of  the  original  creative  work  is 
of  high  importance,  with  an  added  plausibility  or  a 
specious  appearance  of  truth  that  shall  make  it 
worthy  of  confidence,  in  many  works  of  art,  and  these 
merits  constitute  an  EFFECT,  that  of  being  in  accord 
with  the  truth. 

The  story  may  be  cunningly  realistic  or  openly  ro- 
mantic— to  impose  critical  limitations  on  it  in  either 
respect  narrows  the  field  and  dulls  variety  of  presenta- 
tion. An  author  deeply  interested  in  social  problems 
may  present  scenes  and  characters  as  he  thinks  he  sees 
them  from  a  purely  personal  point  of  view  or  from  that 
of  an  artist  engaged  in  revealing  what  is  unknown  of 
them. 

Sometimes  the  autocrat  of  artistry  is  hampered  by 
an  experience  purely  theatrical  and  occasionally  dra- 
matic. It  is  quite  possible  that  poesy  and  jingle  are 
confounded  in  his  mind,  natural  result  of  several  years' 
apprenticeship  to  the  stage.  He  may  have  lost  all 
traces  of  natural  endowment  to  grasp  the  almost  in- 


24  SCREENCRAFT 

tangible  spirit  of  poesy.  Then  it  is  that  his  backgrounds 
possess  not  even  a  pilfered  essence  of  artistry.  Con- 
sumed by  a  desire  to  display  his  knowledge  of  stage 
mechanical  operation,  a  slave  of  the  property  room,  he 
loses  sight  of  the  fact  that  he,  and  he  alone,  must  ap- 
peal to  a  sensitiveness,  to  a  love  of  beauty  and  harmony 
that  is  almost  universal  among  intelligent  people,  that 
even  makes  dull  hearts  beat  high  in  response.  When 
he  receives  the  best  that  capable  authorship  has  to 
offer,  he  demonstrates  his  own  unfitness  for  his  work 
unless  he  transmits  the  energy  and  beauty  of  it  to  his 
audience.  He  should  do  this  and  even  more,  even  add 
to  what  is  destined  to  become  an  instrument  gf  uni- 
versal culture. 

There  can  be  no  spirit  of  poesy  in  a  screen  visualiza- 
tion that  does  not  spring  pure  and  undefiled  from  a  big 
heart,  one  in  generous  sympathy  with  whatever  con- 
tributes to  world-over  human  happiness.  This  spirit  is 
as  delicate  as  the  poet's  own  tender  sensibilities.  That 
it  may  persist  in  and  pervade  the  completed  product, 
it  must  be  handled  with  high  appreciation  of  its  value. 
If  it  does  not  discover  a  great  truth,  its  mission  may 
be  that  of  bringing  truth  to  light,  or  that  of  helping  to 
make  a  truth  of  restricted  circulation  socially  appropri- 
ated. Its  interpretation  on  the  screen  should  be  of 
beauty  rather  than  of  force.  It  should  appeal  rather 
than  strike  with  hard  blows.  While  science  has  en- 
abled us  to  advance  through  knowledge  of  observed 
facts,  the  Spirit  of  Poesy  has  brightened  our  way, 
made  us  more  tender  and  ennobled  our  aspirations. 

It  is  the  aspiration  for,  the  attainment  of,  this  Spirit 
of  Poesy,  this  spirit  of  pure  beauty,  which  spells  the 
finest,  the  most  idealistic  side  of  the  scenario  writer's 
profession.  And  he  is  helped  in  this  by  the  public  itself. 
For,  inasmuch  as  picture  show  audiences  are  both  hope- 
ful and  generous  the  writer  of  screen  stories  need  not 
concern  himself  with  what  he  has  been  told  will  "please 


TOTALITY    OF   EFFECT  25 

the  public" — such  an  effort  is  liable  to  cause  the  dear 
public  much  pain.  He  may  concern  himself  only  with 
what  his  creative  ability  brings  forth — the  spectator 
does  not  pay  his  admission  fee  to  arbitrate  but  to  enjoy 
what  springs  fresh  and  sparkling  from  some  other  mind. 
He  will  enjoy  more  what  is  truly  created  than  what  is 
copied,  though  that  might  not  be  what  he  would  de- 
mand. He  may  not  know  in  advance  what  is  good,  but 
this  does  not  interfere  with  his  appreciation  of  it  when 
it  is  held  up  to  his  enraptured  gaze.  The  actor  may  imi- 
tate and  simulate ;  the  director  may  be  constrained  and 
impeded  by  the  commercialism  with  which  he  is  in 
close  touch,  but  the  true  creative  artist  must  be  free  to 
translate  thought  and  feeling  through  movement  in 
harmony  with  his  inspiration. 

One  serious  objection  to  offering  standards  to  the 
born  mind  of  tremendous  creative  impulse,  the  mind 
of  impelling  constructive  tendency,  the  mind  of  genius, 
is  that  genius  flowers  most  richly  in  the  sunshine  of 
encouragement  and  that  it  is  highly  sensitive  to  the 
rigors  of  craftsmanship.  It  is  in  genius  to  devise  its 
own  methods,  to  set  up  its  own  standards,  to  cast  off  all 
shackles  of  convention  and  extend  the  scope  of  human 
effort ;  hence  it  seems  unwise  to  establish  such  a  barrier 
as  that  of  "Don't  Teach,"  but  the  barrier  is  little  more 
than  a  line  of  demarkation  between  visualizations  in- 
tended primarily  to  entertain  and  those  intended  for  no 
other  purpose  than  instruction.  The  builder  of  inter- 
esting stories  may  well  group  his  recreations  of  human 
experience  around  some  vital  truth  and  weave  that 
truth  into  a  symmetrical  design  with  a  more  powerful 
effect  than  could  be  reached  without  it,  but  the  central 
idea  should  not  be  permitted  to  ascend  the  pulpit  and 
shout  where  the  whole  art  is  that  of  delicate  revelation. 

Weary  are  we  of  pulpit  solemnity,  of  the  school 
thesis,  of  the  political  shouter,  of  people  who  argue  and 
argue,  not  because  they  have  anything  new  or  valuable 


26  SCREENCRAFT 

to  offer,  but  because  they  desire  to  assume  the  superior 
position  and  prove  something  that  none  of  us  cares  par- 
ticularly about.  No  one  of  us  knows  so  much  more  than 
the  others  that  we  can  constantly  affirm  with  any 
surety  of  being  accurate — the  best  we  can  do  is  to  offer 
such  information  as  we  possess  along  lines  where  we 
are  best  posted,  by  means  which  do  not  excite  antago- 
nism and  which  permit  the  recipient  to  accept  or 
decline,  according  to  his  individual  requirements  and 
tastes,  and  even  then  we  must  set  a  high  intellectual 
pace  to  keep  ahead  of  the  crowd.  The  man  who  would 
reveal  something  in  his  story  must  keep  in  close  touch 
with  his  age  and  its  revelations. 

Important  discovery  is  made  by  a  capable  author 
when  he  learns  to  his  amazement  that  he  is  not  a 
finality.  It  is  disquieting,  if  not  discouraging,  for  any 
of  us  to  realize  that  we  know  as  little  about  the  Alpha 
of  human  existence  as  we  do  of  its  Omega.  Densely 
ignorant  of  origin  and  of  our  destiny,  vainly  specu- 
lating about  our  beginnings  and  endings,  poor,  tiny 
drifting  atoms  in  a  self-destructive  current  of  human- 
ity, what  have  we  really  to  offer  in  the  guise  of  knowl- 
edge that  is  more  than  a  deduction  from  the  little  we 
have  been  able  to  pick  up  in  one  narrow  experience. 
Remembering  that  error  is  a  deduction  from  experi- 
ence, how  do  we  know  that  we  are  not  offering  error 
in  the  place  of  truth  when  we  ascend  the  pulpit  to 
declaim?  Instead  of  attempting  to  promulgate  a  great 
truth,  the  author  who  sincerely  desires  to  be  of  service 
to  mankind  may  add  his  small  contribution  to  general 
enlightenment  by  pointing  a  way  out  of  error. 

The  audience  in  receptive  mood,  a  great  deal  may  be 
done  in  the  film  story  to  suggest  through  clever  char- 
acterization and  appropriate  incident  our  common 
weakness  ot  clinging  to  old  ideas  and  dogmas,  our 
common  hypocrisy  of  assuming  a  highly  moral  air  in 
dealing  with  those  we  have  reason  to  dislike,  our  af- 


TOTALITY    OF   EFFECT  27 

fectation  of  loyalty  to  a  code  we  have  never  read,  our 
disinterested  devotion  to  the  line  of  work  that  pays  us 
best,  our  toy-balloon  patriotism  that  is  but  a  puff  of 
air — healthy  people  will  come  of  their  own  accord  to  a 
wholesome  way  of  thinking  through  the  screen  story, 
whereas  they  might  put  up  a  stubborn  defens'e  of 
established  ideas  against  the  greatest  logician  in  the 
world.  The  art  is  not  to  teach  them,  especially  by 
methods  that  have  made  teaching  repulsive,  but  to 
reveal  and  amuse. 

The  impression  made  is  one  worked  out  through  sub- 
tle means,  for  the  tendency  of  dramatic  art  in  all  forms 
of  expression  is  away  from  realism  that  is  not  pure 
caricature  and  toward  such  instrumentalities  as  sym- 
bolic interpretation  and  imaginative  picture  effects, 
such  as  those  through  which  great  painters  of  other 
days  strove  to  express  what  was  in  their  minds.  We 
are  all  thinking,  thinking,  eternally  thinking  of  those 
social  forces  which  touch  our  vital  interests,  of  what 
shall  foster  growth  and  conserve  happiness  for  the 
many  of  what  shall  bring  our  institutions  up  to  a  higher 
plane,  where  they  may  minister  to  our  own  needs  and 
t&  the  greater  enjoyment  of  all  within  the  scope  of  our 
influence.  The  biggest  story  of  today  will  embody  the 
fervor  of  our  social  hopes  and  aims. 

Every  art,  in  its  own  way,  and  according  to  its  own 
limitations,  tries  to  achieve  a  totality  of  effect.  And 
this  totality  of  effect,  composed  as  shown  above  of 
beauty  and  truth,  this  sum  of  artistry  depends  largely 
upon  that  creative  imagination  which  shows  itself 
throughout  the  entire  domain  of  expressive  arts  in  the 
production  of  IDEAL  representations,  principally 
those  "whose  grandeur  and  beauty  transcend  all  actual 
experience,  and  which  appeal  to  our  most  refined  sensi- 
bilities, our  most  elevated  emotions."  We  are  short  of 
authors  who  can  either  idealize  types  of  humanity  or 
display  through  the  workings  of  varied  human  char- 


28  SCREENCRAFT 

acter  some  fundamental  truth.  We  are  even  short  of 
authors  who  have  an  elementary  grasp  of  screen  crafts- 
manship. 

The  novelist  divides  profits  with  the  publisher,  and 
the  dramatist  is  given  a  generous  portion  of  the  box- 
office  receipts,  but  a  certain  "borrowing  tendency"  in 
motion-picture  production  has  discouraged  creative 
authorship.  As  a  natural  result  there  are  shown  on  the 
screen  but  few  examples  destined  to  live  more  than  a 
brief  season,  and  even  fewer  command  the  admiration 
of  intelligent  people.  Still,  like  a  few  little  hardy 
plants  springing  up  in  barren  soil  and  adverse  environ- 
ment, occasional  screen  stories  of  bright  promise  ap- 
pear, harbingers  of  a  richer  growth  to  come  under 
intelligent  cultivation. 

The  ill-rewarded  author  of  native  genius  has  at  least 
one  compensation  in  adequate  screen  portrayal  of  his 
story — the  expression  of  his  genius  is  not  only  sounded 
where  he  lives,  but  it  is  echoed  all  over  the  world.  He 
reaches  an  enormous  audience,  contributes  to  forming 
its  taste  for  what  is  worth  while,  and  he  is  bound  to 
rise  if  his  inherent  fertility  holds  out.  He  is  bound  to 
become  the  first  and  most  important  contributor  to  the 
general  sum  of  artistry,  itself  fast  attaining  recognition 
as  the  dominant  factor  in  motion-picture  production. 

A  highly  capable  director  recently  made  a  significant 
remark  in  a  private  letter  to  a  writer  of  screen  stories, 
expressing  a  hope  that  he  was  to  have  more  of  the  kind 
he  had  just  visualized,  because  it  provided  a  "minimum 
of  worry  and  a  maximum  of  result."  It  is  not  only  the 
author's  duty  to  provide  a  story  both  original  and  ef- 
fective, but  to  exhibit  fine  quality  of  craftsmanship  in 
formulating  the  structure,  indicating  the  settings,  in- 
tensifying the  principal  characters,  enforcing  psychol- 
ogy, and  breathing  into  the  whole  scenario  a  soul  of 
inspiring  influence.  This  leaves  the  director  free  to 


TOTALITY    OF   EFFECT  29 

apply  all  the  artistry  of  which  he  is  capable  to  style  and 
imaginative  treatment. 

The  director  of  today  not  only  supervises  visualiza- 
tion, together  with  all  expenditure  therefor,  but  he 
decides  how  the  author's  conception  shall  be  expressed. 
He  translates  the  indicated  thought  and  feeling  into 
pictures  "more  powerful  than  words."  Starting  with 
a  clear  conception  of  what  he  is  to  do,  his  whole  mind 
can  become  concentrated  on  lucidity,  on  force,  on 
beauty  of  the  total  effect.  Opportunities  to  blunder  on 
every  side  of  him,  he  must  exhibit  a  delicate  sense  of 
selection  in  his  methods  of  expressing  the  author's  in- 
tention, using  only  those  which  enhance,  avoiding 
those  which  are  inappropriate. 

Supervising  director,  art  director,  actor,  cameraman 
and  studio  force  working  in  harmony,  the  negative  film 
may  be  good,  but  there  is  artistry  in  scientific  work  on 
the  positive  film  to  follow.  Then,  when  a  definite  value 
has  been  created,  an  entirely  different  group  releases 
energy  in  making  that  value  known  and  commercially 
profitable,  but  IT  MUST  BE  THERE,  an  artistic 
totality  of  effect. 

He  may  follow  the  ordinary  course  of  events  from 
cause  to  effect  or  plunge  into  the  effect  and  bring  up 
his  cause  for  reinforcement.  He  is  in  either  case  pre- 
senting images  formed  by  recombining  what  he  knows, 
the  highest  power  of  which  his  mind  is  capable.  What- 
ever he  tells,  however  he  tells  it,  the  story  successful 
is  a  child  of  his  imagination. 

Imagination  is  working  overtime  when  an  intimate 
friend  tells  of  some  episode  in  his  past  life.  He  may 
use  it  to  illumine  a  dull  point,  or  to  bring  up  experience 
in  illogical  support  of  a  losing  argument,  or  even  to  en- 
tertain himself  at  his  listener's  expense,  but  his  vanity 
gets  busy  at  a  time  when  his  conscience  is  looking  out 
of  the  window,  and  he  rolls  a  large  snowball  of  fiction 
around  a  handful  of  truth.  Such  is  realism  in  the  crude 


30  SCREENCRAFT 

state.  This  realistic  novelist  in  miniature,  requiring 
only  craftsmanship  and  an  independent  income  to  enter 
upon  a  professional  struggle  for  poorly  rewarded  at- 
tainment and  posthumous  fame,  is  kept  within  a  modi- 
cum of  restraint,  that  of  his  hearer's  credulity.  When 
he  breaks  loose  in  print,  he  may  rise  above  the  ordinary 
level  of  misrepresentation  and  acquires  a  splendid  dis- 
dain of  dry  facts  to  the  delight  of  his  readers  and  to 
the  benefit  of  literature  in  general. 

It  rarely  occurs  to  critical  readers  that  error  is  a 
product  of  reason.  It  grows  out  of  false  interpreta- 
tion. Many  of  the  absurd  notions,  false  conceptions 
and  pernicious  practices  that  we  deplore  in  human 
existence  have  been  created  by  realists  and  naturalists 
who  argued  wrongly  from  a  fundamental  truth.  Pe- 
culiar quality  of  the  unfettered  poet  and  of  the  fiction- 
maker  who  does  not  waste  his  time  in  acquiring  a 
heavy  burden  of  useful  information  is  a  gift  of  exag- 
geration that  is  often  inspiring  and  even  prophetic. 
The  romancer  writes  fiction  because  he  loves  it,  the 
realist  as  if  he  had  a  painful  duty  to  perform.  The 
man  who  loves  his  work  is  sincere.  He  is  drawing 
from  the  exhaustless  font  of  his  sympathies  and  not 
attempting  to  deceive  us  by  presenting  dull  facts  under 
the  illusions  of  fiction,  yet  he  accurately  pictured  the 
submarine  fifty  years  ago  and  set  the  whole  world 
thinking  with  the  purely  romantic  characters  of  Dr. 
Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde. 

While  it  is  a  difficult  matter  to  properly  represent 
truth  through  pretense  and  deception,  stories  realistic 
and  naturalistic,  those  minutely  portraying  certain 
phases  of  life  as  seen  through  a  temperament,  may  be 
accorded  space  on  a  varied  program,  especially  when 
offering  one  or  another  form  of  social  criticism,  but 
realism  may  easily  become  monotonous  and  naturalism 
disgusting  if  untempered  by  contrast.  Their  sermon- 
izing is  rarely  subtle  enough  to  be  successfully  masked 


TOTALITY    OF   EFFECT  31 

as  entertainment,  and  their  attractiveness  at  the  fancy 
dress  ball  of  imaginative  fiction  is  akin  to  that  of  men 
who  go  in  business  suits.  They  look  on  with  mingled 
wonder  and  disdain  while  Robinson  Crusoe  and 
Mother  Goose  share  popularity  with  Rip  Van  Winkle, 
Cinderella,  Count  of  Monte  Cristo,  Robin  Hood, 
Ivanhoe,  Hamlet,  Juliette,  Othello,  Beatrice  and  a  long 
train  of  idealizations,  strong  or  beautiful,  quaint  or 
sympathetic,  the  creatures  of  Romance. 

To  know  truth  one  must  feel  it  intuitively,  as  a  ma- 
jority of  intelligent  people  do  who  are  disinterested 
spectators  of  a  great  wrong  being  done  at  this  time,  or 
it  must  be  acquired  through  patient  investigation  of 
what  science  is  accomplishing  and  a  clear  judgment 
that  enables  a  writer  to  choose,  not  only  the  best 
means,  but  the  best  ends  for  his  work.  Whether  it 
comes  through  intuition  or  through  wisdom,  truth  will 
make  itself  felt,  will  find  unconscious  recognition 
awaiting  it  among  all  classes  of  people.  Whatever  the 
form  throughout  the  wide  sweep  from  farce  to  tragedy, 
the  finest  realism  is  that  of  a  world  idea  which  sways 
feeling  through  its  complete  rationality. 

To  blend  truth  with  beauty,  with  poetry — that  is 
perhaps  one  of  the  main  attributes  of  the  screen  drama. 
There  is  indeed  a  phase  of  screen  imagery  akin  to 
poetry.  There  is  a  point  where  this  phase  fuses  with 
the  esthetic,  where  these  two  unify  in  an  entirely  new 
method  of  expression,  that  of  the  screen,  and  yet  re- 
main true  to  the  underlying  principles  of  art.  Through 
physical  movement,  through  intelligent  application  of 
settings  and  lights,  through  sanctification  of  nature's 
sweetest  moods,  may  be  evolved  a  harmony  of  revela- 
tion that  is  at  once  a  delight  for  the  eye,  a  stimulus  for 
the  mind,  and  inspiration  for  the  heart.  At  that  par- 
ticular point  the  author  abdicates  in  favor  of  the 
director,  who  thereafter  reigns  supreme — the  autocrat 
of  artistry. 


32  SCREENCRAFT 

The  autocrat  of  artistry  has  his  troubles.  Even  when 
he  is  entirely  capable  of  entering  into  the  spirit  of 
this  new  art  he  is  all-too-often  harassed  by  the  com- 
mercial management  driven  to  complete  his  work  in 
time  for  an  arbitrary  release.  So  many  feet  of  film 
for  so  much  money  is  the  requirement,  with  all  that 
goes  to  make  that  film  a  thing  of  beauty  and  joy  for- 
ever as  a  side  issue.  This  policy  is  the  result  in  part 
of  an  old  system  of  distribution,  one  which  compels 
the  exhibitor  to  eat  everything  on  the  bill  of  fare  or 
starve.  It  is  also  partly  to  blame  for  the  prosaic  char- 
acter of  most  releases,  but  the  big  fault  in  produc- 
tion lies  in  the  system  which  has  grown  out  of  a  super- 
fluity of  scenarios.  A  flood  of  them  pours  in  from 
amateurs  who  read  the  "no-previous-experience-neces- 
sary" advertisements  and  the  director  has  to  choose 
between  these  and  the  scripts  from  professional 
writers  who  reach  down  from  some  isolated  height  of 
literary  obscurity  to  immolate  their  talents  and  pick 
up  a  little  easy  money. 

If  poets  have  one  single  distinguishing  characteris- 
tic, it  is  that  of  sincerity.  Even  when  they  make  a 
study  of  their  own  ideals  and  principles,  or  take  pains 
to  find  what  demands  are  made  upon  them  by  those  to 
whom  they  sing,  they  do  so  to  put  emphasis  in  songs 
that  come  straight  from  their  hearts.  If  prosaic  pho- 
toplays have  only  one  characteristic  to  distinguish 
them  from  stories  containing  a  beautiful  ideal,  it  is 
lack  of  sincerity.  The  sordid  motive  cannot  be  con- 
cealed. It  deadens  the  whole  product.  The  surest 
way  to  detect  hypocrisy  in  this  new  and  beautiful  art 
of  expression  is  to  closely  examine  what  the  author 
has  to  express.  Scenarios  from  those  who  try  to 
squeeze  the  last  drop  of  blood  out  of  stale  situations 
and  plots  are  false  offerings  from  apostles  of  nothing- 
ness. 

Given  a  poetic  theme  of  vitality,  sympathy  with  its 


TOTALITY   OF   EFFECT  33 

spirit,  knowledge  of  photoplay  structure  and  an  abil- 
ity to  communicate  that  knowledge  in  writing,  the 
average  director  will  find  his  scenario  a  source  of  de- 
light and  inspiration.  Success  can  only  be  expected 
in  this  composite  production  when  it  is  an  art  com- 
plete, not  one  incomplete.  The  autocrat  of  artistry 
may  be  able  to  accomplish  wonders,  but  he  falls  down 
when  called  upon  to  imitate  the  forest  bird's  note  on 
a  penny  whistle.  Nor  is  it  entirely  up  to  him  to  carry 
forward  the  poetic  spirit  of  a  story.  His  is  sensitive 
work,  and  he  must  have  the  cordial  support  of  those 
who  watch  expenditure,  generosity  of  conduct  quite  as 
well  as  of  outlay. 


PRESENT  DAY  ISSUES 

OR 
WHAT  TO  DO  AND  WHAT  NOT 

FEEL  the  pulse  of  the  national  heart — for  what  is 
it  throbbing?  Tremendous  problem  of  the  pres- 
ent and  of  many  years  to  come  is  that  of  inter- 
national relations.  Whatever  may  be  the  pretext  of 
war,  we  all  know  that  one  real  cause  of  it  is  greed, 
the  desire  to  acquire  through  an  exhibition  of  superior 
force.  A  nation  may  be  ashamed  of  its  motive,  it  may 
loudly  shout  that  a  war  obviously  undertaken  for  con- 
quest is  purely  defensive,  but  the  principal  object 
sought  is  an  acquisition  of  territory  along  with  such 
other  property  as  may  be  obtained  by  loot  or  indem- 
nity. Behind  the  gilded  robbery  and  theft  is  a  desire 
for  power  on  the  part  of  ruling  classes  and  for  greater 
revenues  through  taxation  than  could  be  obtained  in 
times  of  peace.  By  winning  a  war  the  sovereign  who 
is  losing  his  grip  on  place  may  pretend  that  he  is 
responding  to  a  popular  demand  and  he  may  actually 
win  the  gratitude  of  the  very  people  he  is  sacrificing. 
Can  a  weak  body  of  men  or  can  an  unprepared  na- 
tion abolish  war  by  non-resistance?  Is  the  spirit  of 
aggression  to  be  so  easily  quenched  in  the  hearts  of 
men?  How  about  the  powerful  impulse  of  protection 
that  causes  a  male  to  flame  with  anger  when  one  he 
holds  dear  is  attacked?  Will  any  vigorous  nation  re- 
main passive  when  her  vital  interests  are  threatened? 
Is  it  not  an  error  of  unthinking  peace  advocates  that 
peace  can  be  maintained  except  by  the  warning  of 
strong  military  preparation?  In  possession  of  a  re- 
sourceful country  of  our  own,  we  do  not  covet  the 
poorer  territory  south  of  the  Rio  Grande,  yet  do  we  not 
honestly  believe  that  the  best  thing  that  could  happen 
to  Mexico  would  be  annexation  to  our  own  more  en- 

34 


PRESENT  DAY  ISSUES  35 

lightened  and  better  organized  form  of  government? 
Could  we  not  end  war  by  making  it? 

Can  relations  between  two  countries  be  made  peace- 
ful by  treaty  where  there  is  no  other  responsibility  in 
the  signatures  to  such  treaty  than  that  of  an  absolute 
monarch  held  unaccountable  for  his  acts  by  his  people? 
Of  what  value  is  a  treaty  between  one  great  sovereign 
nation  whose  people  have  demonstrated  their  high 
honor  and  ability  in  regulating  their  own  affairs  with- 
out the  interference  of  a  hereditary  class,  and  an  in- 
ferior nation,  whose  people  publish  their  own  incapac- 
ity and  lack  of  conscience  by  not  asserting  the  prin- 
ciples of  self-control?  Are  not  those  men,  whether 
they  be  called  socialists  or  by  any  other  name,  who 
are  struggling  to  throw  a  beam  of  light  into  the  dull 
minds  of  their  fellows  on  the  Continent  of  Europe,  who 
are  risking  their  lives  and  fortunes  to  assert  the  rights 
of  humankind  over  the  ridiculous  "divine  rights"  of 
ruling  families,  the  greatest  heroes  of  modern  times? 
They  are  sounding  big  notes  that  will  ring  and  rever- 
berate down  the  corridors  of  centuries  to  come. 

Those  who  are  striving  to  demonstrate  the  value  of 
high  character,  as  opposed  to  the  dominance  of  heredi- 
tary place,  are  finding  support  in  the  ranks  of  contend- 
ing armies  among  the  Poles,  whose  leaders  have  more 
than  once  attempted  to  set  up  an  elective  form  of  gov- 
ernment, to  substitute  common  justice  for  imaginary 
consequence,  to  produce  a  government  by  compact  on 
the  only  principles  by  which  government  of  any  kind 
can  endure  and  hold  the  respect  of  enlightened  people. 
Some  great  heroes  are  bound  to  emerge  from  the  bitter 
struggle,  men  and  women  who  may  lose  all  that  they 
hold  dear  in  attempting  to  replace  a  reign  of  terror 
with  that  of  reason.  "For  a  nation  to  love  liberty," 
said  Lafayette,  "it  is  sufficient  that  she  knows  it;  and 
to  be  free  it  is  sufficient  that  she  wills  it." 

We  may  be  proud  of  ourselves  and  of  our  country, 


36  SCREENCRAFT 

but  are  we  entirely  grateful — have  we  given  due  recog- 
nition to  one  of  the  mightiest  factors  in  our  progress? 
Does  not  the  name  "mother"  spell  to  us  our  sweetest 
memory,  our  finest  inspiration?  Why  should  we  deny 
her  anything  in  the  world  that  we  enjoy?  Why  should 
we  deprive  her  of  any  advantage  she  might  wish  to 
use  for  the  benefit  of  children  and  therefore  to  the 
benefit  of  humankind?  Though  she  could  not  be  better 
at  heart,  she  might  well  be  accorded  any  and  every 
privilege  now  given  to  mankind  alone. 

You  cannot  soil  a  true  woman  by  broadening  her 
knowledge  and  her  experience — you  cannot  tarnish 
pure  gold — you  can  only  brighten  her  and  enlarge  her 
sphere  of  usefulness.  Wherever  you  find  a  man  of 
strong  character  you  will  find  a  mother  of  beautiful 
character,  one  who  has  not  only  given  of  her  body  to 
the  making  of  God's  creatures,  but  one  whose  splendid 
spirit  has  been  communicated  to  the  child  during  mo- 
ments, hours  and  years  of  exhaustless  affection. 

That  the  lamp  of  the  soul  may  never  go  out  women 
should  be  given  all  that  strengthens  mind  as  well  as 
body — their  vestal  watch  keeps  the  spiritual  light 
aflame.  We  must  be  fair  to  her  who  has  the  power  to 
make  this  a  much  more  splendid  world  through  the 
children  she  brings  into  it — the  building  of  their  char- 
acters is  so  largely  in  her  hands  that  what  they  receive 
is  usually  proportioned  to  what  she  is  given. 

Feel  the  pulse  of  the  national  heart — it  throbs  re- 
sponsive to  the  idea  of  sounding  the  capacity  of  chil- 
dren that  they  may  be  benefited  to  the  fullest  possible 
extent.  Millions  of  parents  are  deeply  interested  in 
discovering  such  a  course  of  training  as  shall  develop 
strength  and  beauty  in  nice  balance  with  such  a  men- 
tal growth  as  shall  assure  a  high  place  for  their  chil- 
dren. They  are  giving  more  and  more  attention  to  that 
subject.  The  method  need  not  be  suggested — that 
might  prove  dangerous — but  the  necessity  of  improved 


PRESENT  DAY  ISSUES  37 

methods  may  be  strongly  indicated  in  the  pictured 
story. 

While  it  is  quite  natural  for  us  to  draw  inspiration 
from  classical  antiquity,  especially  where  it  lays  em- 
phasis on  the  esthetic  side  of  life,  where  visible  things 
have  been  transmuted  into  forms  artistic  to  the  delight 
of  whatever  is  fine  in  our  sensibilities,  the  intellectual 
idealist  of  determination,  good  sense  and  high  aspira- 
tions does  not  confuse  change  with  progress,  nor  does 
he  disregard  the  lessons  of  antiquity,  but  he  is  often 
regarded  as  impracticable  because  he  strains  with  all 
his  eager  strength  to  overcome  ignorance  and  its  preju- 
dices, ever  pushing  forward  toward  finer  spirituality 
and  happiness.  He  is  impracticable  only  in  setting  his 
own  standards  beyond  the  immediate  possibility  of  in- 
dividual achievement.  No  greater  mistake  could  be 
made  than  that  of  supposing  a  man  to  be  incapable 
of  accomplishment  because  he  is  imbued  with  new 
spirit,  ardent  in  aspiration  and  seemingly  indifferent  to 
material  results.  It  is  in  the  essence  of  true  genius 
to  consider  what  bearing  events  easily  foreseen  are  to 
have  on  vital  issues. 

What  are  the  issues  of  largest  interest  to  English- 
speaking  people  of  the  present  time?  War  looms  up 
with  overshadowing  importance.  What  effect  will  it 
have  upon  the  social  fabric?  What  economic  changes 
will  result?  News  columns  are  filled  with  accounts  of 
profits  it  has  brought  to  a  small  body  of  manufacturers 
and  traders,  while  little  is  said  about  that  finer  profit 
to  the  whole  universe  of  imposing  a  check  upon  auto- 
cratic militarism,  even  upon  despotic  forms  of  govern- 
ment, capable  at  any  time  of  destroying  splendid  inter- 
national relations  for  mean  and  selfish  purposes.  We 
may  be  on  our  way  to  achievements  which  will  put 
to  shame  all  that  we  have  hitherto  accomplished,  but 
will  this  prevent  our  being  regarded  with  eyes  envious 
and  covetous  by  those  gangs  of  men  organized  to  rule 


38  SCREENCRAFT 

by  force,  especially  should  their  survival  depend  upon 
our  downfall? 

It  is  not  at  all  impossible  that  we  may  be  deeply  hu- 
miliated at  the  end  of  this  war  by  well-armed  forces 
ready  to  use  any  pretext  to  collect  from  us  enough  to 
pay  their  bills.  Preparation  for  such  an  emergency 
is  coming  to  be  regarded  as  a  live  issue,  but  there  is  a 
more  far-seeing  preparation  for  all  such  emergencies 
to  be  considered.  Our  general  efficiency  as  educated 
and  intelligent  men  of  athletic  training,  our  specializ- 
ing in  all  departments  of  engineering  and  science,  our 
elimination  of  half-decayed  human  garbage,  our  pro- 
tection of  women,  homes  and  children  from  the  evil 
influences  of  men  who  mistake  license  for  freedom, 
the  cultivation  of  social  muscle  through  the  cultiva- 
tion of  all  that  is  fine  in  human  nature,  all  these  are 
vital  themes.  It  is  within  the  province  of  this  new 
art  to  make  felt  the  power  of  right. 

Those  who  clamor  for  peace  because  they  do  not 
understand  that  war  may  be  waged  for  a  principle  may 
find  vent  for  their  surplus  energy  in  fostering  another 
kind  of  peace,  that  between  employers  and  workpeople. 
Stories  bearing  on  the  regulation  of  what  are  often 
regarded  as  conflicts  of  interest,  which  should  be  mat- 
ters of  common  concern,  are  bound  to  attract  the  enor- 
mous number  of  people  who  work  for  wages.  Correla- 
tive themes  relating  to  the  health  and  happiness  of 
workpeople,  suitable  homes  for  their  families  and 
schools  for  their  children,  quite  as  well  as  factory  in- 
spection and  hygiene  comprehend  issues  that  are  far 
from  dead,  though  many  of  them  have  already  engaged 
the  attention  of  motion  picture  producers.  Big  sub- 
ject, especially  in  this  country,  where  working  people 
have  reached  a  high  degree  of  self-reliance,  is  that  in- 
volving the  principle  of  industrial  co-operation. 

What  of  the  workman's  child?  Every  splendid  child 
would  pay  the  country  high  interest  on  its  careful  nur- 


PRESENT  DAY  ISSUES  39 

ture  and  education.  Shall  it  be  sent  to  earn  a  pitiful 
wage  in  the  factory?  Shall  it  be  sent  out  into  the  street 
to  peddle?  Shall  it,  in  this  great  country  of  equal 
rights,  be  given  an  even  chance  to  live,  achieve  and 
enjoy?  How  can  we  even  consider  a  future  that  shall 
make  this  continent  one  of  sunshine,  an  example  to 
the  world,  unless  we  value  childhood  and  youth?  We 
are  doing  more  and  more  to  give  them  strong  bodies 
and  clean  minds,  but  the  concern  shown  in  them  is 
so  often  lacking  in  ordinary  common  sense  that  it 
would  seem  as  though  the  parents  must  be  educated 
as  such  or  the  children  pass  into  the  care  of  the  public 
so  far  as  system  in  training. 

While  there  are  big  things  to  do,  big  issues  of  which 
to  treat,  there  are  also  many,  varied  and  important 
things  which  the  writer  of  the  photoplay  ought  not  do. 
This,  the  inconsequential  of  moving  drama  writing, 
is  well  worth  a  few  paragraphs.  For  instance:  Frail 
wife  leaves  the  compromising  letter  in  a  magazine  she 
happens  to  be  reading  when  it  arrives,  the  logically 
correct  thing  to  do  in  current  photoplays  and  made- 
over  melodramas,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  both 
maid  and  butler  are  present.  The  latter  pounces  upon 
it  as  soon  as  Frail  Wife  is  gone,  but  he  is  compelled 
to  disgorge  when  stern  and  unrelenting  Husband  un- 
expectedly returns.  Husband  grits  his  teeth  and 
clenches  his  hands.  He  dashes  out.  He  reappears  in 
the  main  dining  room  of  notorious  restaurant.  He 
slips  a  bill  of  large  denomination  to  head  waiter. 
H.  W.  rolls  his  eyes  significantly  in  a  certain  direc- 
tion. Husband  exits  and  soon  reappears  in  private 
dining  room,  where  Frail  Wife  and  False  Friend  are 
clasping  hands  over  a  table.  Husband  regards  them 
sternly  and  locks  the  door ! 

During  the  early  part  of  the  presentation,  the  piano 
tinkles  monotonously,  while  the  fiddlers  tune  their  in- 
struments. Then  the  orchestra  leader  makes  his  bid 


40  SCREENCRAFT 

for  attention  with  a  snappy  tune.  While  the  music  is 
reaching  a  noisy  conclusion,  Stern  Husband  is  choking 
the  life  out  of  False  Friend,  pressing  his  thumbs  in  the 
latter's  Adam's  Apple.  Slowly  the  False  Friend  suc- 
cumbs, while  Frail  Wife  cringes  in  the  corner  unable  to 
do  else  than  watch  the  killing.  Ah !  The  arms  of  False 
Friend  drop  helplessly — all  is  over — and  the  music 
comes  to  an  end  with  a  zip  and  a  boom. 

At  this  point  a  thousand  or  more  people  burst  into 
an  uncontrollable  roar  of  laughter,  a  recent  and  actual 
occurrence.  Of  course  it  was  largely  due  to  coin- 
cidence, but  the  people  were  venting  their  scorn  in  a 
good-humored  way,  scorn  for  the  stupidity  of  the  story, 
a  weary  re-enactment  of  a  situation  moth-eaten  years 
and  years  ago. 

People  will  never  grow  tired  of  moving  pictures 
when  the  importance  of  artistry  comes  to  be  fully 
recognized,  but  a  very  large  part  of  present  produc- 
tion is  merely  repetition,  or  reversion  or  is  seriously 
marred  by  the  inconsequential.  People  laugh  in  a 
generous  sort  of  way  at  errors,  but  there  is  a  serious 
meaning  to  that  laugh  when  it  occurs  in  the  midst  of 
serious  presentations.  There  is  even  contempt  in  it 
at  times.  No  man  feels  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  get 
up  and  announce  that  what  is  being  shown  on  the 
screen  is  utter  rot,  but  he  will  release  his  derision  when 
afforded  an  opportunity. 

Another  large  audience,  viewing  a  feature  distin- 
guished by  one  fine  characterization,  that  of  an  un- 
selfish family-provider,  burst  into  laughter  near  the 
end,  right  on  the  eve  of  tragedy,  because  of  an  incon- 
sequential bid  for  sympathy.  In  dire  extremity,  the 
unselfish  provider  decides  to  commit  suicide  so  that 
his  family  may  benefit  from  his  incontestable  insurance 
policy — that  familiar  device  is  used  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  it  only  excites  a  feeling  of  nausea  among  people 
of  common  sense — and  he  goes  to  a  hotel  for  that  pur- 


PRESENT  DAY  ISSUES  41 

pose.  He  is  shown  in  a  handsome  hotel  office  pulling 
out  his  pocketbook  to  pay  for  his  room,  and  a  close-up 
is  given  of  his  hand  and  pocketbook  that  pity  may 
be  excited — he  has  only  fifty  cents.  He  registers  and 
is  conducted  off  scene  by  the  bell-boy.  The  latter 
immediately  ushers  the  fifty-cent  guest  into  a  spacious 
and  well-furnished  bed  chamber.  At  this  point  the 
whole  audience  roars. 

There  was  not  the  slightest  necessity  for  showing 
what  the  room  cost,  particularly  of  enforcing  that  cost 
in  a  close-up.  The  price  of  the  room  was  of  no  conse- 
quence when  a  man  was  about  to  take  his  own  life, 
so  the  people  in  front  laughed  and  thus  vented  their 
disapproval  of  a  course  which  seemed  to  them  to  be 
uncalled  for  under  the  circumstances.  Many  of  those 
people  in  front  had  been  in  dire  extremity  themselves 
and  had  fought  their  way  out  by  continuous  exhibi- 
tions of  courage  in  the  face  of  suffering,  but  they 
might  not  have  laughed  at  the  presentation  if  the  di- 
rector had  not  provided  an  opportunity  by  an  enforce- 
ment of  the  absolutely  inconsequential.  Another  play 
of  merit,  one  of  exceptional  artistry  in  treatment,  de- 
serving the  applause  usually  given  on  that  account, 
fell  flat  at  the  end  before  a  friendly  audience.  It  was 
of  the  olden  time.  The  hero,  an  expert  swordsman, 
becomes  embroiled  in  a  tavern  row  and  thrusts  his 
rapier  into  a  half  dozen  people  before  making  his 
escape.  He  is  separated  from  the  heroine,  but  a  long 
series  of  exciting  adventures,  leading  to  a  land  thous- 
ands of  miles  from  home,  results  in  bringing  them  to- 
gether at  the  end.  Interest  is  entirely  centered  on  their 
fortunes,  but  the  director  issues  an  explanation  at  the 
very  moment  of  their  happy  reunion,  citing  that  the 
most  prominent  of  those  who  went  down  in  the  tavern 
brawl,  to  whom  no  interest  had  been  attached,  had  not 
been  killed  at  all. 

The  example  just  cited  illustrates  the  destructive 


42  SCREENCRAFT 

effect  of  unimportant  explanatory  details  injected  after 
the  crisis,  so  destructive  as  to  warp  judgment  of  a  play 
otherwise  highly  meritorious.  The  second  example 
points  out  how  those  useless  details,  thrust  upon  at- 
tention at  an  important  moment,  may  excite  derision. 
The  first  example,  while  the  laugh  was  excited  by  an 
amusing  coincidence,  indicates  that  audiences  are 
weary  of  such  wornout  devices  as  that  of  the  compro- 
mising letter  left  where  it  will  do  most  harm.  Only 
feeble  invention  depends  upon  the  hackneyed. 

The  effect  of  the  inconsequential  is  jarring  when  it  is 
not  ridiculous,  as  jarring  as  the  sudden  appearance 
before  the  curtain  of  an  actor  who  has  just  been  seen 
lying  dead  on  the  stage.  It  is  absurd  for  a  director,  or 
for  an  author,  to  build  up  interest  with  infinite  pains 
and  tear  it  down  at  a  crucial  moment  by  thrusting  upon 
attention  the  inconsequential.  It  is  a  sure  sign  of  tech- 
nical inefficiency — not  that  technique  is  an  end,  but  it 
is  surely  a  means  to  an  end. 

The  employment  of  whatever  is  really  inconsequen- 
tial diverts  attention  at  any  point  of  development  in 
the  story,  and  it  becomes  positively  obnoxious  during 
intense  action.  Lack  of  hard,  concentrated  work  on  the 
part  of  an  author,  and  consequent  lack  of  material  in 
the  scenario,  may  lead  to  the  interpolation  of  irrelevant 
and  superfluous  matter  by  the  director,  but  his  reputa- 
tion is  at  stake,  and  he  is  certainly  lacking  in  those 
qualities  of  judgment  which  he  should  possess  when 
he  sets  in  motion  the  complicated  mechanism  of  fea- 
ture production  only  to  clog  it  when  under  full  head- 
way and  thus  dissipate  his  energies  to  no  complete 
and  satisfactory  purpose. 


MAKING  A  SCENE 

OR    . 
ITS  QUALITY,  THE  TREATMENT  AND  NUMBER 

TO  WORK  out  any  ideal  system  for  an  art  in  the 
early  stages  of  its  evolution  is  manifestly  danger- 
ous. On  the  other  hand,  to  abandon  the  abstract 
for  the  concrete,  to  be  guided  by  the  examples  put  be- 
fore our  eyes  in  that  state,  is  equally  perilous.  With 
almost  every  constructive  detail  of  the  new  art  in 
process  of  formulation,  like  the  characteristics  of  a 
young  child,  what  principles  can  be  laid  down  that  are 
really  logical  deductions  from  what  has  been  well 
done?  The  finest  screen  stories  of  a  few  years  ago 
begin  to  look  amateurish  just  now — we  might  easily 
find  ourselves  reasoning  from  feeble  premises. 

Observe  the  best  photoplays — is  there  any  such  thing 
as  a  regular  practice  in  determining  the  number  of 
scenes  to  an  act,  or  the  quantity  of  material  necessary 
for  a  scene  ?  If  not,  how  is  it  possible  to  lay  down  any 
law  on  the  subject  which  shall  be  in  accord  with  pres- 
ent experience?  It  is  better  under  the  circumstances  to 
avoid  assertion  altogether  and  offer  merely  an  idea  of 
what  has  been  found  useful  in  some  recent  scenarios 
successfully  produced,  a  sort  of  experimental  founda- 
tion. 

A  scene  in  its  broad  sense  comprises  what  goes  on 
without  a  break  in  one  place.  It  presents  uninterrupted 
action  in  the  open  or  within  the  confines  of  a  studio 
set.  When  it  is  broken  by  a  screen  imprint,  or  to  cover 
a  lapse  of  time,  or  to  portray  another  line  of  coincident 
action,  or  for  some  mental  vision  of  one  of  the  charac- 
ters of  other  times  and  places,  not  depicted  by  double 
exposure,  both  it  and  the  interruptions  become  new 
scenes  so  far  as  enumeration  is  concerned.  Also,  when 
the  scene  is  very  long,  or  when  the  effect  can  be  height- 

43 


44  SCREENCRAFT 

ened  by  contrast,  it  may  be  interrupted,  but  not  so  as 
to  lose  hold  on  attention. 

In  farce-comedy,  and  in  that  unconscious  farce  the 
screen  drama  which  does  little  more  than  depict  action, 
the  scenes  may  be  so  indiscriminately  chopped  and 
patched  by  every  one,  from  author  to  editor,  that  there 
may  be  a  hundred  or  more  in  one  act,  whereas  three 
or  four  dozen,  inclusive  of  screen  imprints,  particularly 
when  filled  with  interesting  matter,  are  sufficient. 
While  there  are  no  arbitrary  rules  on  this  subject,  the 
audience  point  of  view  is  to  be  considered,  and  constant 
flashing  back  and  forth  may  easily  operate  to  destroy 
rather  than  to  sustain  interest. 

When  a  small  boy  is  robbing  an  orchard  and  sees  the 
farmer's  big  dog  headed  his  way  there  is  a  time  for 
action  and  little  room  for  psychology,  but  consider  the 
well-known  situation  of  the  young  girl  of  ruined  aristo- 
cratic family,  her  heart  given  to  an  absent  young  man 
of  her  own  class,  her  attention  compelled  by  a  husky 
parvenu  of  great  wealth  proposing  marriage.  The  ab- 
sent one  has  been  long  silent;  her  devoted  father  is 
facing  disgrace  as  well  as  destitution;  her  loving 
mother  is  on  the  verge  of  physical  and  mental  collapse, 
and  the  girl's  sense  of  obligation  to  her  parents  is  as 
high  as  her  fine  spirit. 

Assuming  that  all  the  characters  have  been  made 
known  when  first  introduced,  the  set  first  calls  for 
attention.  To  be  in  accord  with  the  girl's  social  station 
and  the  mood  of  the  play  it  should  be  described  clearly 
and  briefly,  nominating  essential  details.  Let  it  be  that 
of  a  well-ordered  reception-room  with  a  glimpse  of 
noble  hall  in  the  background.  Refinement  characterizes 
the  girl's  costume,  absence  of  savoir  faire  the  dress  and 
conduct  of  the  suitor.  He  may  not  be  lacking  in  dig- 
nity of  a  rude  sort,  but  he  must  betray  that  he  is  jll  at 
ease  in  spite  of  abundant  self-confidence.  She  is  wait- 
ing when  he  enters. 


MAKING  A  SCENE  45 

The  scene  between  these  two  may  be  disposed  of  in 
three  parts,  one  portraying  the  proposal,  one  given  to 
a  screen  imprint  of  what  the  suitor  says,  and  one  show- 
ing the  girl's  reluctant  acceptance  and  the  suitor's  de- 
parture, with  a  glimpse  of  her  mental  torture  after  it  is 
over.  Characterization  at  once  becomes  important  and 
occupies  a  large  part  of  what  is  described  in  the  sce- 
nario— how  do  the  two  people  conduct  themselves 
under  the  circumstances?  The  girl's  mental  state  may 
be  set  forth  by  still  greater  amplification,  increasing 
the  number  or  scenes. 

1.  The  set  is  named  and  described.   The  girl's  atti- 
tude toward  the  suitor  after  he  enters  must  be  con- 
sidered. She  knows  why  he  has  come  because  she  is  a 
woman;  she  receives  him  with  a  measure  of  dignified 
courtesy  because  she  is  intelligent ;  she  tries  to  relieve 
his  embarrassment  because  she  is  generous.  He  is  full- 
blooded  and  impassioned,  but  he  falters  and  fails  until 
the  intensity  of  his  nature  breaks  like  an  on-rushing 
wave  on  the  merciless  rock  of  her  native  resistance.  He 
declares  himself. 

2.  An  imprint  of  his  ardent  declaration. 

3.  The  girl  does  not  give  an  immediate  reply — she  is 
still  struggling  between  an  impelling  necessity  and  the 
natural  dictates  of  her  heart.  Instead  of  deciding  mat- 
ters  in  the  third  scene,  the   general  effect   may  be 
strengthened  by  some  revelation  of  what  is  passing  in 
her  mind.    She  listens  with  lowered  head,  then  she 
turns  away  and  gazes  pensively  toward  the  camera. 
Show  her  in  what  is  called  a  "close-up,"  a  large  view 
of  her  face  alone,  exhibiting  her  mood  as  a  dreamy  one. 
Note  in  the  scenario  that  this  scene  dissolves  to  the 
next,  the  ordinary  term  being  "Cut  to  Scene  4."  Audi- 
ences have  grown  accustomed  to  consider  this  fading 
out  and  into  another  scene  as  a  "vision." 

Four  may  begin  with  "resolve"  to  whatever  new  set 
is  to  follow,  or  to  the  same  set  in  days  gone  by.  Let  it 


46  SCREENCRAFT 

be  that  the  girl  remembers  a  parting  from  her  true- 
love  in  the  same  reception  room  after  a  costume  ball. 
The  last  guests  are  bidding  good-night  to  her  parents 
in  the  hall,  while  her  true-love  in  the  foreground  slips 
a  chain  and  locket  over  her  head  and  implores  her  not 
to  forget  him  during  his  absence.  Now  the  scene  is 
cut  to  5,  in  which  is  imprinted  his  parting  injunction, 
"Promise  that  you  will  be  true."  There  is  a  cut  to  Scene 
6,  the  same  as  4,  and  the  portrayal  of  her  promise  and 
the  parting.  This  is  followed  by  a  dissolve  to  7,  same 
as  the  first  scene. 

Seven  shows  in  large  scope  that  the  girl  is  standing 
apart  from  her  parvenu  suitor  in  the  last  attitude  por- 
trayed in  3,  only  in  large  scope.  Her  whole  soul  re- 
volts against  breaking  her  promise  to  wed  one  she  does 
not  love,  and  this  is  made  so  plain  that  he  cannot  fail 
to  see  it,  but  she  catches  a  glimpse  of  her  unhappy 
father  guiding  a  physician  through  the  hall,  and  she 
regains  her  original  strength  of  purpose.  She  bows  to 
the  inevitable  and  accepts  the  proposal,  but  her  atti- 
tude is  so  appealing  that  her  suitor  is  affected.  There 
is  conversion  in  his  attitude  for  the  moment ;  he  bends 
over  her  hand  and  leaves.  She  weakens  when  he  has 
gone,  but  brightens  up  on  the  appearance  of  her  father 
and  tells  him  the  news. 

One  scene  develops  to  three  and  even  seven  under 
some  circumstances,  particularly  when  it  is  of  prime 
importance,  but  this  does  not  mean  that  mere  inter- 
mittent flashes  of  action  need  be  dignified  as  scenes. 
It  is  not  necessary  for  the  author  in  unimportant  cases 
to  do  more  than  state  that  two  scenes  of  contrast  or  of 
converging  action  are  to  be  subdivided  for  any  purpose, 
particularly  that  of  intensifying  suspense. 


THE  FIVE-REEL  FEATURE 

OR 
HANDLING  LONGER  MATERIAL 

THE  author  who  has  a  story  to  tell,  even  when  he 
knows  how  to  tell  it  in  print,  is  ofted  under  a  false 
impression  as  to  the  amount  of  material  required 
for  a  five-reel  feature  and  almost  wholly  unaware  of 
how  it  should  be  divided  into  five  acts.  He  may  even 
imagine  that  because  he  knows  very  little  about  the 
construction  of  a  photoplay  scenario  that  there  is  very 
little  to  be  known.  Such  a  view  is  the  natural  result  of 
having  an  intellectual  boundary,  that  of  his  own  craft, 
and  the  one  who  entertains  it  is  occasionally  shocked 
to  discover  that  all  he  has  to  provide  can  be  swallowed 
by  one  reel  without  a  gulp. 

While  no  rules  have  yet  been  formulated  on  the  sub- 
ject, at  least  none  which  would  not  equally  serve  for 
measuring  moonlight,  the  author  who  has  one  eye  on 
the  main  chance,  who  wishes  to  develop  his  story  in 
feature  proportions,  may  feel  reasonably  assured  that 
directors  rarely  complain  of  excess  material.  Long  ex- 
perience has  taught  them  to  expect  a  shortage  of  gray 
matter  in  the  scenario,  which  they  convert  by  laborious 
overplaying,  or  by  reckless  interpolation,  into  an  over- 
supply  for  the  ruthless  editor  to  cut  down,  all  of  which 
might  be  obviated  in  the  scenario.  "But,  how?"  asks 
the  author,  the  gentleman  who  is  supposed  to  supply 
the  brains  of  a  story,  "how  is  this  to  be  done?" 

The  question  might  be  evaded  by  suggesting  that  the 
anxious  inquirer  closely  observe  the  best  screen  ex- 
amples, count  the  time,  the  scenes  and  sub-titles,  and 
in  a  general  way  familiarize  himself  with  the  subject 
on  which  he  is  about  to  venture.  Such  a  training  might 
modify  many  a  new  writer's  self-sufficiency  and  tame 
some  of  the  older  ones,  but  short  cuts  of  experience 

47 


48  SCREENCRAFT 

may  be  of  value,  and  what  is  done  in  other  arts  of  ex- 
pression may  help. 

In  the  opening  period,  that  of  making  known  the 
characters,  the  location  and  the  general  trend  of  a  story 
may  be  one-third  of  the  whole  novel  and  usually  re- 
quires one-third  of  a  three-act  stage  play.  It  is  not, 
however,  advisable  to  use  more  than  one-fifth,  the  first 
act  of  a  five-reel  photodrama,  for  such  introductory  and 
preparatory  work,  though  this  limitation  is  not  actually 
imposed.  Now  strip  the  novel  or  the  drama  of  all 
verbiage  save  a  few  clarifying  explanations  or  bits  of 
conversation,  particularly  those  which  enforce  the  ac- 
tion, and  there  is  left  a  skeleton  of  incidents  and  events, 
the  bare  narrative. 

Those  who  have  sucessfully  transformed  the  novel 
and  the  stage  play  for  screen  presentation  have  come 
upon  a  discovery  that  is  always  alarming  and  some- 
times painful — the  actual  story  material  is  not  enough 
to  hold  the  attention  of  an  audience  for  more  than 
three  reels.  Two  additional  reels  must  be  provided  by 
dragging  attenuation  or  by  providing  entirely  new  ma- 
terial in  harmony  with  the  subject  matter.  In  both 
cases,  especially  in  the  latter,  it  has  been  found  neces- 
sary to  knock  the  old  ship  to  pieces  and  simply  piece 
the  old  material  into  a  new  structure. 

Pages  of  conversation  and  philosophic  comment  in 
one  case,  hours  of  uttered  language  in  the  other,  nearly 
all  must  be  eliminated  for  the  sake  of  visible  beauty, 
significant  movement  and  intense  psychology.  In  or- 
der to  ascertain  how  every  one  of  three  dozen  scenes 
and  a  half  dozen  sub-titles  in  one  act  of  a  photodrama 
may  be  made  to  count  strongly  with  an  audience,  it 
would  not  be  a  bad  plan  for  an  author  to  reduce  his 
narrative  to  a  synopsis  and  work  from  that  basis  to 
evolve  a  single  telling  act,  remembering  that  the  chop- 
ping of  two  contrasting  scenes  can  easily  be  done  at 
the  studio  by  the  editor. 


THE  FIVE-REEL  FEATURE  49 

Starting  with  a  theme,  and  keeping  that  theme  ever 
in  mind,  the  author  of  creative  imagination  and  devo- 
tion to  his  work  will  find  his  material  supplied  by  the 
necessities  of  development,  his  plot  taking  care  of 
itself.  If  the  story  reaches  its  natural  end  in  three  reels, 
let  it  rest  there  for  good,  or  begin  over  again  at  the 
beginning  on  a  larger  general  scheme,  one  which  will 
probably  suggest  itself  after  the  first  writing.  The  one 
thing  to  be  avoided  at  every  step  is  theatricalism. 

By  theatricalism  is  meant  staginess  and  the  use  of 
artificial  characters  and  incidents  long  deemed  essen- 
tial in  the  drama.  By  theatricalism  is  also  meant  stale 
stuff,  the  Kentucky  feud,  the  Balkan  Princess  and  the 
ingenious  young  American  who  stirs  up  things  in  her 
kingdom,  the  country  maiden  who  is  wronged,  or 
nearly  wronged,  by  the  city  chap,  who  is  forgiven  by 
her  old  country  sweetheart,  the  shifting  of  clothes  and 
identity  between  mistress  and  maid,  or  between  gentle- 
man and  valet,  the  dual  indentity,  or  the  man  of  two 
lives,  the  story  that  depends  upon  uncle's  will,  or  upon 
a  foolish  wager,  the  millionaire  hero  or  heroine  who 
assumes  a  disguise  that  he  or  she  may  be  wed  for 
love's  sweet  sake.  Above  all,  the  wornout  Cinderella 
story. 

The  author  who  starts  in  to  use  this  sort  of  material 
need  not  fret  his  soul  as  to  how  much  of  it  will  fill  a 
feature  play.  It  is  at  present  being  liberally  supplied 
to  us  without  cost  to  the  producer.  Largely  from  foun- 
tains of  pure  creative  genius  will  come  such  original 
five-reel  features  as  will  be  given  consideration  by  men 
who  must  expend  thousands  of  dollars  to  produce  them. 
Most  surely  such  features  may  be  counted  upon  to  win 
the  author's  way  to  artistic  success  and  at  least  an 
imitation  of  commensurate  financial  reward. 

But  in  the  handling  of  material  that  involves  a  large 
expenditure  of  money  on  the  part  of  the  producer,  the 
author  should  keep  in  mind  the  cost  of  the  production 


50  SCREENCRAFT 

because  every  dollar  he  adds  to  this  cost  detracts  just 
so  much  from  the  producer's  eventual  commercial 
profit.  That  means  that  the  author  should  not  call  for 
either  too  many  and  too  costly  mechanical  accessories, 
for  too  many  and  too  costly  settings,  or  for  the  employ- 
ment of  a  too  large  number  of  stars.  In  other  words, 
the  author  should  not  hesitate  to  learn  the  lessons  that 
the  editor  or  the  director,  familiar  with  the  handling  of 
big  productions,  are  in  a  position  to  teach. 

The  future  success  of  both  author  and  producer  is 
bound  to  depend  more  and  more  upon  mutual  confi- 
dence and  respect.  Nearly  all  large  makers  of  motion 
pictures  have  become  established  through  hard  work 
and  business  sagacity,  a  fact  occasionally  overlooked 
by  scenario  writers  of  decided  native  gifts  and  unde- 
cided ideas  of  how  to  formulate  their  creations — they 
invent  without  providing  a  practicable  working  device. 
Even  those  who  are  in  earnest,  who  do  not  look  to 
moving  pictures  for  a  little  easy  money  on  the  side, 
often  fail  because  whatever  is  worth  while  in  their 
scripts  is  presented  in  bad  shape. 

Imagine  a  publisher  of  fiction  being  compelled  to  hire 
a  squad  of  skilled  craftsmen  for  the  purpose  of  trans- 
forming, revising  and  punctuating  carelessly  written 
novels  before  sending  them  to  the  printer!  The  suc- 
cessful novelist  exercises  a  vast  amount  of  purely 
technical  skill  in  writing  and  rewriting  his  story,  realiz- 
ing that  it  is  not  enough  to  be  familiar  with  his  subject 
matter — he  must  have  an  intimate  acquaintance  with 
his  medium.  Yet  he  will  send  in  a  scenario  of  weird 
structure  to  the  producer  of  moving  pictures  and  sit 
back  with  a  self-satisfied  smile  when  he  sees  his  un- 
moulded  clay  splendidly  visualized  on  the  screen, 
densely  unaware  that  it  is  essential  in  other  artistic 
callings  than  that  of  literature  to  be  an  artisan.  Having 
provided  the  raw  material,  he  is  stupid  enough  to  ac- 
cept credit  for  the  finished  product,  almost  entirely 


THE  FIVE-REEL  FEATURE  51 

the  work  of  those  who  gave  it  form  at  the  studio.  Even 
intelligent  dramatists  are  slow  to  appreciate  the  genius 
required,  not  to  reflect  what  they  have  done,  but  to 
refract  it  in  glowing  shape  on  the  screen. 

As  many  a  novelist  has  learned  how  to  tell  his  story 
through  assistance  of  a  very  practical  nature  from  his 
publisher,  and  is  indebted  to  that  help  for  no  small 
part  of  his  success,  so  would  the  author  of  a  screen 
play  be  benefited  by  contact  with  the  editorial  brains 
of  a  concern  producing  motion  pictures.  It  is,  however, 
rare  for  a  publisher  to  concern  himself  with  any  kind 
of  a  script  that  requires  general  revision,  whereas  there 
is  a  tremendous  labor  of  clarification,  alteration  and 
correction  imposed  upon  the  producer  of  visualized 
stories.  Few  authors  deem  it  necessary  to  sit  back  and 
scan  their  scenario  in  an  imaginative  way,  scene  by 
scene,  just  as  it  is  to  be  presented  before  an  audience 
knowing  nothing  about  the  characters  and  their  rela- 
tions to  one  another,  nothing  about  what  is  being  said 
in  conversation  not  imprinted,  nothing  about  the  sig- 
nificance of  action  that  does  not  lucidly  reveal  its  own 
motive. 

The  best  editors  are  those  who  combine  in  them- 
selves all  that  is  discerning,  careful  and  sensible,  with 
an  admixture  of  artistic  taste,  all  that  knowledge  and 
experience  can  contribute  to  good  judgment.  Editors 
are  not  born — they  are  made  in  the  crucible  of  varied 
experience.  The  editor  has  less  chance  than  the  author 
to  be  dilatory  and  careless  about  results.  Those  results 
are  not  so  far  away  as  from  the  author,  and  they  mean 
either  profit  or  loss  to  capital  at  his  elbow.  An  author 
may  be  serenely  unconscious  of  his  own  idleness, 
imagine  he  is  at  work  when  he  is  not — he  is  often 
unaware  of  how  much  he  could  accomplish  until  driven 
by  hard  necessity.  The  editor  has  a  release  date  staring 
him  out  of  countenance,  an  imperative  demand  upon 
his  courage  and  his  endurance.  He  has  to  work  harder, 


52  SCREENCRAFT 

even  when  at  the  top  of  the  ladder,  than  any  man  in  the 
studio  from  top  to  bottom. 

Authors  of  undoubted  creative  genius  succeed  when 
they  master  the  craft  and  themselves,  but  there  are 
authors  of  undoubted  creative  genius  who  are  inclined 
to  take  things  easy,  especially  when  the  rent  is  paid. 
There  is  only  one  kind  of  an  editor.  On  his  rapid  and 
untiring  efforts  depends  the  successful  elimination  of 
the  unfit,  provided  by  the  director,  and  the  successful 
providing  for  what  the  careless  author  has  left  out. 
Sometimes  it  is  only  a  pertinent  sub-title  to  clarify 
what  is  obscure,  sometimes  it  means  that  whole  scenes 
must  be  taken  over  again,  if  the  sets  are  not  knocked 
to  pieces  and  the  actors  within  reach.  It  is  the  editor's 
pure  labor  of  unreciprocated  love  to  readjust  awkward 
construction,  correct  unpardonable  errors  and  find  a 
logical  way  out  of  the  labyrinth  in  which  author  and 
director  have  become  entangled. 

Given  a  scenario  of  haphazard  construction,  in  which 
there  appears  the  slightest  modification  of  original  in- 
tention, and  the  director  may  succeed  in  reaching  a 
skillful  readjustment,  but  he  usually  requires  a  subject 
strong  enough  to  warrant  such  pains.  His  mission  is 
that  of  treatment,  his  to  decorate  the  structure,  not  to 
devise  it.  If  he  should  be  tempted  to  stray  into  by- 
paths— he  has  been  known  to  meander — it  devolves 
entirely  upon  the  editor  to  restore  the  semblance  of  a 
steady  movement  in  the  pictured  story.  In  a  few  short 
hours  he  must  rearrange  and  recombine  while  bringing 
the  bewildering  array  of  unmatched  and  incongruous 
positives  down  to  fixed  dimensions.  It  can  be  readily 
imagined,  considering  the  limitations  of  his  time,  that 
his  problems  are  too  much  for  human  ingenuity  to 
solve  with  any  hope  of  a  polished  result. 

It  is  for  the  author  to  do  one  thing  and  do  it  well, 
the  director  to  do  another  and  apply  more  system  to 
his  work  and  the  editor  to  see  that  the  story  is  so  un- 


THE  FIVE-REEL  FEATURE  53 

rolled  before  the  spectator  that  the  mechanical  work  is 
not  visible.  It  is  also  imposed  upon  the  editor  to  clarify 
wherever  the  audience  needs  information  with  brief 
explanatory  sub-titles,  a  few  words  and  nothing  more. 
This  requires  skill  rarely  found  outside  of  those  who 
are  constantly  studying  and  using  the  language.  It 
helps  greatly  if  the  author  offers  sub-titles  of  his  own 
at  the  intricate  places,  if  only  by  the  way  of  suggestion. 
There  is  a  new  office  coming  into  existence,  one  which 
involves  an  unusual  combination  of  constructive  imag- 
ination and  selective  taste,  the  Supervisor.  From  his 
skilled  supervision  we  may  expect  a  more  satisfactory 
exposition,  one  that  is  "straightforward  and  swift  and 
clear." 


SEX  DRAMA 

OR 

MAN  AND  WOMAN  AS  DEFINED  ON  THE  SCREEN 

EXACTLYwhat  is  meant  by  "Sex  Drama"  awaits 
the  lexicographer.  The  term  is  subject  to  wide 
difference  of  interpretation,  but  the  significance 
most  generally  understood  in  this  country  has  probably 
grown  out  of  our  attitude  toward  French  plays,  partic- 
ularly those  of  the  "eternal  triangle."  If  we  were  to 
judge  France  by  the  work  of  her  dramatists  we  could 
not  help  thinking  that  French  people  lay  too  much 
stress  on  sex.  Much  that  their  playwrights  have  to  say 
on  the  subject  in  their  outspoken  way  disturbs  us  as 
much  by  its  frankness  as  it  does  by  an  ethical  stand- 
point somewhat  opposed  to  our  own.  Any  author  of 
intelligence  is  aware  that  "love  is  the  one  subject  which 
every  member  of  the  audience  understands,"  but  that 
does  not  imply  a  limitation  to  the  monotonous  eternal 
triangle  of  husband,  wife  and  lover. 

While  an  artist  of  rare  ability  may  handle  a  perilous 
subject  with  such  skill  as  to  strip  it  of  offense,  the 
clumsy  artisan,  hammering  out  an  adaptation,  may 
only  thrust  into  prominence  whatever  is  repulsive.  At 
best  he  would  be  a  follower  of  Strindberg,  who  says, 
"Let  us  have  a  theater  where  we  can  be  shocked, 
where  we  can  have  revealed  to  us  what  has  hitherto 
lain  veiled  behind  theological  or  esthetic  preconcep- 
tions." Such  a  theater  would  necessarily  be  devoted  to 
the  presentation  of  what  is  unnatural  in  our  social 
structure  or  to  the  emphasis  of  what  is  morbid  in 
human  nature. 

"Sex  Drama,"  in  a  broader  and  more  varied  sense, 
offers  much  that  is  tragic  and  even  more  that  is  comic 
in  the  clash  between  all  that  is  masculine  on  one  side 

54 


SEX  DRAMA  55 

and  all  that  is  feminine  on  the  other,  but  it  is  not  so 
easy  to  differentiate  the  sexes  as  is  commonly  imag- 
ined. It  is  extremely  difficult — it  is  ordinarily  impos- 
sible— for  a  scientist  to  determine  whether  a  human 
skeleton  is  that  of  a  male  or  of  a  female  being,  and 
authors  soon  find  that  a  careful  examination  of  mascu- 
line and  feminine  characteristics  reveals  a  confusing 
similarity  of  structure.  The  difference  is  largely  that  of 
individuals. 

Nearly  all  stories  consider  men  and  women  as  types 
of  the  race,  not  of  one  or  the  other  sex,  unconsciously 
recognizing  the  old  empirical  dual  sexuality,  the  pres- 
ence in  man  of  a  womanish  strain,  or  in  woman  dis- 
tinctly paternal  characteristics.  Such  stories  do  not 
clear  the  way  in  the  matter  of  sex  discrimination,  but 
lead  us  deeper  into  the  jungle.  Given  exactly  equal  con- 
ditions of  heredity  and  environment,  it  might  be  rea- 
sonably doubted  that  character  differences  exist. 

They  do  exist.  Possibly  the  secret  of  all  of  them  is 
to  be  found  in  the  maternal  instinct.  A  splendid  woman 
can  become  completely  and  contentedly  occupied  with 
children,  identifying  herself  only  with  what  her  hus- 
band creates  simply  for  the  love  she  bears  him,  but  not 
really  interesting  herself  in  those  creations  further 
than  that  they  bear  upon  the  welfare  of  her  children. 

The  fact  that  a  man's  sensibilities  become  more  or 
less  indurated  by  intense  devotion  to  work  seldom 
meets  with  woman's  approval — for  her,  love  is  ever  the 
well-spring  of  existence.  She  must  love  some  animate 
thing,  even  if  it  is  only  an  old  cat,  to  the  last  days  of 
her  life. 

Heart  hunger  with  man  is  intermittent.  It  occurs 
to  him  at  all  kinds  of  unexpected  moments.  The  flash 
of  a  bright  eye  beneath  a  half -lowered  lash,  the  faintest 
dimple  of  a  feminine  smile,  and  he  forgets  the  business 
engagement  he  intended  to  keep.  There  is  a  lot  of 
comedy  in  his  erratic  heart-hunger  and  a  lot  of  tragedy 


56  SCREENCRAFT 

in  the  heart-ache  it  causes.  Close  analysis  brings  to 
light  many  sex  differences,  most  of  them  suggesting 
stories  of  infinite  variety,  nearly  all  interesting  to  the 
average  audience,  hence  it  seems  unnecessary  to  use 
the  coarser  elements  of  sex  relation  for  any  form  of 
drama. 

Our  lower  impulses  need  refining  rather  than  stimu- 
lus. We  have  learned  to  idealize  love,  to  sweeten 
and  beautify  it  through  all  the  arts  of  expression.  This 
does  not  mean  that  our  blood  shall  not  run  red  with 
intense  feeling,  but  that  our  very  passions  shall  grow 
more  beautiful  with  our  unfolding  of  character.  Love 
can  be  all  that  love  ever  was  and  a  thousand  times 
more.  Human  nature  may  be  superb  in  breasting  a 
torrent  of  desire — it  is  pitiful  when  wallowing  in  the 
mire.  The  dramatist  who  lowers  and  cheapens  the  su- 
preme sentiment  which  brought  him  into  the  world 
must  surely  forget  the  world's  dearest  gift,  the  bene- 
diction of  a  mother's  eternal  love. 

In  every  encounter  of  the  sexes  there  are  two  heroes, 
the  man  and  the  woman,  each  of  equal  importance  and 
indispensable.  The  role  man  plays  in  any  drama  is  one 
his  character  impels,  plus  or  minus  the  influences 
brought  to  bear  upon  that  character  at  critical  mo- 
ments according  to  his  strength  of  reason.  The  same 
may  be  said  of  woman  when  she  has  a  reason,  when 
she  does  not  wholly  depend  upon  keen  sensibilities 
and  intuitive  judgment.  It  is  almost  always  a  question 
of  superior  or  inferior  rationality  with  the  being  who 
is  "a  mighty  maze,  but  not  without  a  plan."  He  is  a 
creature  of  remembrance  and  reflection,  quite  often 
conscious  of  his  unfulfilled  possibilities,  inclined  more 
and  more,  as  the  centuries  of  evolution  are  unrolled,  to 
do  his  own  thinking. 

Man,  as  he  is  pictured  by  the  playwrights,  occupies 
one  of  two  places  when  there  is  strife  for  a  woman — 
that  of  duly  legalized  possession,  or  that  of  unauthor- 


SEX  DRAMA  57 

ized  desire.  He  plays  a  dual  role  when  his  errant  heart 
is  torn  by  affection  for  his  wife  and  another  woman  at 
the  same  time.  His  social  course  seems  to  be  clearly 
defined — he  should  maintain  the  conventions,  anni- 
hilate the  lover  in  one  case  and  stick  to  his  vows  in 
the  other,  but  the  primary  emotions,  love,  hate,  jeal- 
ousy and  envy  often  unscramble  his  omelet  in  a  fashion 
so  distressing  that  his  proper  study  for  dramatic  pur- 
poses becomes  three-sided.  Embarrassing  as  it  is  to 
the  theory  of  man's  ratiocination,  he  occasionally  does 
reason  less  from  premises  to  conclusion  than  along  the 
devious  course  of  inclination.  From  his  tendency  to 
range,  more  than  that  of  woman,  have  risen  the  thous- 
and and  one  variations  of  the  Eternal  Triangle. 

At  this  point  there  comes  to  mind  the  query  what  is 
meant  by  Sexual  Selection  and  what  part  does  it  play 
in  motion  picture  drama.  A  brief  discussion  may  not 
be  amiss.  By  Darwin  Sexual  Selection  is  defined  as 
that  province  or  department  of  natural  selection  in 
which  sex  is  especially  concerned,  or  in  which  the 
means  by  which  one  sex  attracts  the  other  comes  prom- 
inently into  play.  So  it  is  defined  by  Darwin.  He 
further  says :  "For  my  own  part,  I  conclude  that  of  all 
the  causes  which  have  led  to  differences  in  external 
appearance  between  the  races  of  men,  and  to  a  certain 
extent  between  man  and  the  lower  animals,  sexual  se- 
lection is  by  far  the  most  efficient." 

The  favorite  theme  of  all  story-makers,  love  is  re- 
garded by  many  as  the  dominant  passion  of  existence, 
now  sensuality  adorned  by  sentiment,  again  passion 
beautifully  tempered  by  affection,  at  once  a  torture  and 
a  masterly  fascination,  a  compelling  force  that  leads  in 
one  case  to  race  preservation  and  all  the  charm  that  is 
attached  through  it  to  home  life,  that  drives  in  another 
to  brutality  and  madness.  Certain  it  is  that  the  im- 
pulse of  reproduction  has  but  one  rival,  that  of  self  and 
family  maintenance.  Love  and  money  rule  the  world. 


58  SCREENCRAFT 

Students  of  the  drama  are  led  to  find  its  essence  in 
one  word,  "desire,"  or  more  truly  in  a  conflict  of  de- 
sires. The  word  "desire"  may  well  include  ambition 
and  determination  to  achieve  a  certain  definite  purpose 
through  struggle  of  mind  and  body,  but  sexual  selec- 
tion almost  invariably  plays  the  leading  role  in  stories, 
for  all  that  there  may  be  other  currents  of  thought  and 
feeling  flowing  along  at  the  same  time,  intermingled 
with  the  love  affair.  Where  natural  longing  runs  coun- 
ter to  convention,  the  lapse  of  a  husband  furnishes 
comedy  material  and  that  of  a  wife,  the  race  mother, 
an  element  more  serious,  often  tragic.  This  may  be  due 
to  an  idealization  of  womanhood  or  to  the  fact  that 
men  write  most  of  the  plays. 

If  the  story  is  to  be  remembered,  if  it  is  not  a  pas- 
time, why  not  adorn  the  normal  life  of  woman  with 
compensating  charm  and  beauty?  Why  not  hold  up 
the  supposed  gay  life  to  the  mirror  of  truth  and  expose 
its  superficiality,  its  hideous  concealments,  its  dark 
miseries,  and  hold  it  up  to  the  scorn  of  ridicule?  Men 
who  are  qualified  by  varied  experience  to  write  on  the 
subject  know  that  the  alleged  gaiety  of  fast  life  is  one 
of  alcoholic  illusion,  a  shabby  old  mask  for  moral  de- 
cadence, the  fatuous  leer  of  degeneracy. 

When  it  comes  to  the  cure  for  wrong  methods  of 
living,  our  hearts  may  well  expand  for  erring  humanity. 
Only  a  few  victims  of  social  depravity  are  perverts. 
Most  of  them  are  men  and  women  of  perfectly  normal 
tendencies,  whose  ideals  unattained  have  given  rise  to 
a  form  of  revolt  against  existing  laws  and  customs. 
They  are  brothers  unfortunate  and  sisters  unhappy  in 
our  common  social  household,  widowed  by  failure  of 
heart  selection. 

That  life's  dramas  should  invariably  end  with  the 
embrace  of  a  girl  in  her  teens  and  a  young  man  with 
fuzz  on  his  upper  lip  is  not  entirely  in  accord  with  ex- 
perience. It  is  often  just  about  to  begin.  Man  and  wife 


SEX  DRAMA  59 

enter  upon  a  long  series  of  comedies  and  tragedies  at 
the  altar.  Stories  both  amusing  and  enthralling  are  yet 
to  be  visualized  of  the  trials  of  sexual  selection,  where 
it  plays  the  dominant  note,  phases  of  the  inevitable 
clash  between  strong  personalities,  and  of  reconciliation 
or  of  tragic  end.  Such  stories  may  come  with  the  ad- 
vent of  professional  writers  into  this  new  art  of  expres- 
sion— they  are  beyond  the  amateur  as  a  rule — and  then, 
at  last,  a  large  part  of  the  audience  will  sit  up  and  take 
notice. 

Perhaps  some  of  life's  greatest  tragedies  result  from 
the  unpreparedness  of  wife  or  from  the  unfitness  of 
husband  for  the  married  state.  The  death  of  a  first 
child  may  be  the  innocent  means  to  a  noble  end.  Finer 
understanding  and  greater  happiness  may  grow  out  of 
what  at  first  has  the  appearance  of  a  calamity.  The 
dominance  of  love  over  self-assertion  furnishes  rich 
material  for  comedy,  especially  when  it  conquers  the 
lord-and-master  type  of  old-fashioned  benedict.  Most 
fascinating  is  the  play  of  feminine  charm  against 
brutal  force  of  character.  The  field  is  so  rich  in  themes 
that  one  only  wonders  why  it  lies  fallow. 

Callow  love  interests  cannot  but  bore  the  mature 
mind,  whereas  on  the  other  hand,  deep  interest  will 
always  hinge  very  much  on  material  and  spiritual  dif- 
ferences in  the  love  of  man  and  that  of  woman.  To  all 
minds  not  primitive,  the  most  fascinating  thing  in  a 
presentation  of  human  love  is  its  psychology. 

This  discussion  now  naturally  and  inevitably  leads 
to  a  consideration  of  domestic  drama  in  all  its  many 
and  varied  phases.  In  such  drama  it  is  extremely  inter- 
esting to  note  the  character  of  the  man  as  he  is  usually 
depicted,  and  further  to  study  what  such  delineation 
and  picturization  might  be  made  to  portray. 

The  lives  of  married  people  are  replete  with  material 
for  the  screen  story.  The  clash  of  individualities  and 
the  effect  of  that  clash  upon  offspring ;  the  inspiration 


60  SCREENCRAFT 

afforded  by  an  intelligent  woman  to  her  husband  in  his 
work ;  the  disaster  which  often  follows  an  inability  to 
combine  in  a  mutual  effort ;  the  comical  readjustments 
of  young  married  couples;  the  tendency  of  man  to  be 
weaned  from  his  natural  affection  by  his  wife's  inability 
to  keep  pace  with  his  advancement;  the  danger  of  hous- 
ing relatives  whose  partiality  keeps  the  wounds  of  mis- 
understanding ever  open;  the  strange  happiness  en- 
joyed by  couples  seemingly  ill-mated ;  the  folly  of  dig- 
ging into  the  past  of  either  party  to  a  union ;  all  these 
and  many  others  furnish  themes  entirely  outside  of  the 
Eternal  Triangle.  Nor  need  the  question  of  marital 
fidelity  seriously  intrude  where  there  is  a  breach  be- 
tween husband  and  wife  on  account  of  his  or  her  asso- 
ciations. 

The  justice  of  man's  role  is  largely  dependent  upon 
characterization.  In  that  character  lies  a  seed  from 
which  his  conduct  grows.  His  natural  function  that  of 
providing  subsistence  and  shelter,  the  larger  part  of 
his  mind  force  is  directed  toward  overcoming  the  oppo- 
sition he  meets  in  competing  with  other  men.  The 
preservative  forces  in  him  make  him  aggressive.  He 
is  calculating — the  recognition  of  individual  property 
gives  him  a  distinct  object  to  pursue.  He  is  avaricious 
at  times  because  he  must  provide  those  very  comforts 
and  luxuries  women  enjoy,  which  cause  them  to  prize 
the  successful  man  without  closely  investigating  his 
methods  of  doing  business.  He  is  obeying  his  most 
powerful  impulses  when  he  works  hard,  schemes  cun- 
ningly and  worries  himself  into  fits  of  nervous  depres- 
sion to  get  possession  of  what  represents  the  accumu- 
lated surplus  of  labor. 

The  man  who  is  able  to  make  his  own  way  and  pro- 
vide a  home  for  wife  and  family  seems  to  be  regarded 
from  a  theatrical  point  of  view  as  more  or  less  of  a 
fool,  if  not  an  easy  mark.  He  lacks  on  the  screen,  as  on 
the  stage,  the  keen  penetration  and  quick  wit  of  similar 


SEX  DRAMA  61 

men  in  real  life.  Then,  when  the  millionaire  banker 
comes  home  and  tells  his  wife  that  he  has  lost  "all," 
they  move  into  one  room  with  the  plaster  falling  off 
and  dine  from  the  milk  bottle.  All  the  sagacity,  strat- 
egy, craft  and  cunning  that  the  banker  has  displayed  in 
making  his  millions  disappear  overnight.  There  is 
practically  no  true  characterization  of  men  in  the  do- 
mestic drama.  If  they  are  not  made  to  act  in  direct 
opposition  to  what  might  well  be  expected  of  them, 
they  simply  stroll  through  the  piece  in  dress  suits  and 
other  fine  raiment. 

To  picture  man  as  purely  an  automaton,  or  even 
merely  as  an  emotional  being,  is  to  disregard  the  intel- 
lectual growth  working  within  him.  The  emotions  are 
constant — it  is  mind  that  is  variable.  Nature  may  im- 
pel him,  propel  him,  but  his  mind  does  the  steering. 
Necessity  may  drive,  passion  may  urge  him  into  dra- 
matic entanglements,  his  collision  with  obstacles  may 
be  almost  continuous,  but  chance  should  not  be  arbi- 
trarily called  to  his  aid — he  should  not  be  cleared  of 
an  unjust  accusation  by  a  dying  confession  of  the  real 
culprit.  He  should  enforce  the  recognition  of  truth 
through  his  own  intellectual  activity.  We  love  char- 
acter, not  incident  and  accident.  Directors  are  not  ex- 
pected to  provide  characterization  where  none  has  been 
indicated.  That  is  entirely  up  to  the  author,  which 
means  that  he  must  have  a  supply  of  mind  force  in  or- 
der to  write  plays. 

But  there  can  be  no  domestic  drama,  neither  tragedy 
nor  comedy,  without  woman.  Side  by  side  with  man 
she  plays  her  role.  How  then  should  she  be  revealed 
on  the  screen? 

Misunderstandings  in  married  life  are  all-too-easily 
solved  by  authors  who  do  not  get  at  the  MOTIVES 
of  a  wife,  especially  when  she  constitutes  the  hypoth- 
eneuse  of  an  "eternal  triangle."  To  nominate  her 
merely  "capricious"  and  let  it  go  at  that  is  to  ignore 


62  SCREENCRAFT 

the  real  issue,  the  basis  of  a  new  and  better  under- 
standing. Nearly  all  women  have  the  social  instinct 
and  the  moral  instinct,  the  better  class  of  them  are 
products  of  developed  social  and  moral  desires.  An 
author  must  dig  deeper  than  mere  caprice  to  get  at  the 
cause  of  marital  disagreement,  remembering  that 
woman,  because  of  her  dependence,  her  closer  adher- 
ence to  social  forms  and  exactions,  her  natal  purity  of 
heart,  rarely  gives  up  the  co-operative  habits  of  mar- 
ried life  without  a  motive  arising  from  a  torrent  of 
feeling  sweeping  her  soul. 

Lack  of  psychology  in  the  pictured  domestic  drama 
deadens  interest  in  the  story.  Why  do  wives  wrangle 
over  trivialities  and  foment  discord  to  the  destruction 
of  their  own  happiness?  A  quaint  philosopher  claims 
that  married  women  are  divided  into  four  classes:  1, 
the  primitive,  those  actuated  by  small  cunning  when 
not  brutalized  by  bad  temper ;  2,  those  who  are  honest 
and  harshly  frank ;  3,  those  who  are  deceitfully  tactful 
for  selfish  purposes,  and  4,  those  who  are  naturally 
sweet  through  the  impulses  of  a  kind  heart  and  gra- 
cious through  an  endowment  of  cultivation.  There  is 
nothing  on  earth  so  hard  to  subdue  by  forceful  meth- 
ods as  the  will  of  a  powerful  and  vigorous  male,  yet 
he  will  strain  hard  in  the  harness  and  put  forth  all  his 
strength  to  pull  more  than  his  share  of  the  load  when 
he  is  given  an  easy  rein  and  quietly  encouraged  in  the 
fiercest  part  of  his  struggle.  He  is  ever  engaged  in  a 
battle  all  his  own  between  the  lower  and  higher  im- 
pulses of  his  nature,  and  the  peculiar  constitution  of 
his  mind  becomes  apparent  to  the  wife  whose  tender 
sympathies  are  supported  by  the  high  faith  and  keen 
vision  of  intelligence. 

Whatever  the  story,  that  of  the  devoted  wife  who 
fails  to  inspire  her  husband  in  his  work,  that  of  the 
innocent  wife  driven  to  false  ideals  by  the  cruelty  of 
her  mate,  that  of  a  disreputable  woman's  atonement, 


SEX  DRAMA  63 

that  of  drifting  apart  through  lack  of  congeniality, 
whether  the  end  be  adjustment  or  disaster,  the  mere 
facts  become  commonplace  without  an  analysis  of  mo- 
tive behind  the  action,  and  this  means  an  analysis  of 
sex  and  character.  That  one  or  another  type  of  primi- 
tive woman  is  so  constantly  pictured  on  the  screen, 
presenting  little  or  no  resistance  to  the  pleadings  of 
some  wandering  and  predatory  male  inanity,  is  because 
the  term  "primitive"  adequately  describes  the  authors. 
Both  on  the  legitimate  and  the  screen  stage,  there 
has  in  the  past  been  a  certain  stigma  attached  to  all 
matters  dealing  with  sex.  Yet  I  venture  to  say  that  this 
stigma  has  been  entirely  undeserved.  For,  after  all,  the 
relation  of  the  two  sexes  to  each  other  expresses  in 
itself  everything  worthwhile  in  human  life,  including 
as  it  does  every  emotion,  good  or  bad,  of  which  the 
human  heart  is  capable ;  and  every  striving,  every  am- 
bition, good  or  bad,  which  is  at  the  back  of  a  man's  or 
a  woman's  career,  life,  and  outlook  on  life. 


HUMAN  EMOTIONS 

IN 
COMEDY  AND  TRAGEDY  VISUALIZED 

WE  ROAR  when  the  clown  throws  a  wet  sponge 
at  the  acrobat  and  hits  the  ringmaster  by  mis- 
take, partly  because  the  latter  has  been  strut- 
ting around  in  a  silk  hat,  cracking  his  whip  and  other- 
wise offending  our  egotism,  and  partly  because  we 
take  a  malicious  delight  in  the  mistakes  of  others.  Two 
brothers  are  chaffing  at  the  head  of  a  staircase  and  one 
slips  and  falls  down  the  entire  length.  The  one  remain- 
ing goes  into  hysterics  of  laughter — it  is  a  secondary 
matter  with  him  to  ascertain  whether  his  brother  is 
injured.  A  man  chases  his  wind-blown  hat  in  a  devi- 
ous course,  while  the  rest  of  us  grin  from  a  point  of 
security.  The  clown,  foolish  and  vulnerable  ass  that 
he  is,  has  a  close  kinship  to  that  part  of  ourselves  which 
we  carefully  conceal  from  our  nearest  friends,  whereas 
the  arrogant  ringmaster  represents  out  attained  aspi- 
rations to  be  the  center  of  attention.  We  instinctively 
dislike  him  because  of  his  airs  of  importance,  whereas 
the  clown  represents  an  inferiority  of  which  some  of  us 
are  conscious  in  periods  of  occasional  sanity  and  is 
correspondingly  popular — he  is  one  of  us. 

When  we  emerge  from  the  pure  and  childish  joy  of 
watching  men  throw  things  and  sit  down  with  unex- 
pected force,  we  begin  to  have  a  rather  cloudy  suspi- 
cion that  there  may  be  something  funny  about  our- 
selves as  exemplified  in  other  people.  What  we  are  is 
nobody's  business,  and  it  is  all  right  about  our  playing 
little  parts,  just  as  we  attempt  to  achieve  an  angelic 
expression  before  the  mirror — we  are  trying  to  live  up 
to  the  best  there  is  in  us,  and  it  adds  greatly  to  our 
happiness  that  we  can  hope  people  take  us  for  what  we 
seem  to  be.  The  brutal  truth  about  us  would  be  rather 

64 


HUMAN  EMOTIONS  65 

disconcerting  at  times.  We  have  only  to  sit  down  and 
dissect  ourselves  psychologically  to  find  abundant  ma- 
terial for  comedy. 

It  may  not  seem  true  that  we  are  justified  by  self- 
examination  in  formulating  an  estimate  of  all  human 
nature,  but  it  will  become  painfully  apparent  in  time 
that  we  are  very  much  akin  to  one  another.  We  all 
know  the  sensations  of  hunger  and  cold,  and  a  large 
part  of  masculine  effort  is  given  to  procuring  subsis- 
tence and  arranging  for  shelter.  Therein  lies  the  be- 
ginning of  industry,  also  of  avarice.  In  acquiring  from 
others  we  have  developed  a  system  of  exchange  and 
some  crude  forms  of  civil  justice  to  settle  our  disputes. 
There  is  nothing  particularly  complex  about  man.  He 
is  devoting  most  of  his  hours  in  making  and  distribut- 
ing appliances  for  protection  against  climate,  to  trans- 
portation, to  procuring  food,  to  eating,  sleeping,  but- 
toning and  unbuttoning,  fighting,  or  to  entertainment 
for  the  eye  and  ear.  When  he  turns  from  these  at  all, 
as  he  occasionally  does,  it  is  to  love  woman. 

Now  it  is  true  man  does  not  love  as  woman  does,  for 
the  preservation  and  perpetuation  of  life,  but  with  an 
intense  lack  of  dignity  and  no  overwhelming  sense  of 
personal  responsibility  when  he  is  fully  aroused.  He 
may  be  a  lion,  a  fox,  a  monkey,  or  an  ass,  according 
to  temperament,  when  he  is  in  love,  but  he  is  a  rank 
outsider,  and  will  remain  so  all  his  life  unless  he  is 
fortunate  enough  to  grasp  the  full  meaning  of  a  splen- 
did woman's  love.  To  the  fact  that  he  remains  in  a 
state  of  uncertainty  most  of  the  time,  rarely  sure  of 
her  and  never  sure  of  himself,  must  we  ascribe  his  fit- 
ness for  the  lead  in  comedy.  There  is  nothing  funnier 
on  the  face  of  the  earth  than  just  plain  man. 

Two  popular  screen  stories — so  popular  that  they 
were  widely  imitated — may  be  cited  in  illustration.  A 
young  married  woman  in  modest  circumstances  re- 
ceived a  set  of  sables  from  a  former  suitor  in  Alaska, 


66  SCREENCRAFT 

but  feared  that  her  husband  might  object.  She  pawned 
them  and  told  her  husband  that  evening  that  she  had 
found  the  ticket.  He  took  her  savings  and  promised  to 
redeem  the  furs  next  day.  He  came  home  next  evening 
with  a  moth-eaten  set  of  fox,  and  she  dared  not  com- 
plain, but  she  did  more  than  that  when  she  visited 
his  office  and  found  his  pretty  stenographer  wearing 
the  sables.  Two  newlyweds  invited  their  friends  to  a 
New  Year's  Eve  celebration  and  all  imbibed  too  freely 
of  a  delicious  punch.  Next  morning,  when  hubby 
rushed  into  the  dining  room  for  ice  water  he  had  a 
nervous  fit  over  his  inability  to  remember  what  oc- 
curred after  he  was  caught  by  his  wife  kissing  their 
prettiest  guest.  His  agony  of  mind  grew  until  his  wife 
appeared,  a  towel  around  her  head,  and  feebly  com- 
plained that  she  could  not  remember  a  thing  that  oc- 
curred the  night  before. 

Neither  the  farce,  nor  pantomime,  nor  the  antics  of 
the  buffoon  furnish  half  the  amusement  offered  by  an 
ingenious  comedy  of  situation  which  exposes  some  of 
the  weaknesses  of  human  nature.  Man  finds  it  impos- 
sible to  live  up  to  his  own  standards.  He  likes  to  go 
with  the  crowd,  and  he  keeps  up  a  good  front.  In  order 
to  preserve  his  social  status  he  becomes  careful  about 
his  morals  and  his  necktie.  He  wears  whatever  is  the 
fashion.  He  does  not  lunch  at  an  expensive  restaurant 
because  the  food  is  better  but  to  make  an  impression, 
just  as  he  attempts  to  establish  his  relative  position  by 
the  brand  of  his  motor  car.  He  affects  dignity  in  the 
office  and  solemnity  on  Sunday,  and  sneaks  away  for 
a  night  off  at  the  French  ball  under  the  pretext  of  hav- 
ing an  important  business  engagement  in  dear  old 
Philadelphia. 

Man  may  never  love  virtue  as  he  does  beauty,  but 
it  should  not  be  forgotten  that  he  is  a  thinking  animal, 
and  we  may  learn  to  sympathize  with  him,  to  like  him 
for  his  humaneness.  To  show  him  as  he  is,  to  bare 


HUMAN  EMOTIONS  67 

his  heart  and  soul,  is  a  higher  form  of  comedy,  espe- 
cially when  it  is  interwoven,  with  tragedy  or  intense 
drama.  He  is  better  established  in  our  minds  as  a  real 
human  being  by  revelation  of  his  imperfections,  and 
our  hearts  may  beat  the  more  warmly  for  him  that  we 
are  obliged  to  balance  what  is  good  in  him  against  cer- 
tain obvious  defects  of  character,  especially  when  he 
is  made  over  by  favorable  environment.  We  recognize 
that  circumstances  have  a  great  deal  to  do  in  forming 
character,  and  we  rejoice  when  a  man  of  naturally 
kind  heart  and  good  intentions  finds  himself  lifted  from 
the  misery  of  an  evil  life  by  a  sudden  expansion  of 
opportunity  and  consequent  gain  in  breadth  of  view. 

In  delightful  comedy  drama  may  be  dispelled  many 
popular  conceptions  which  are  without  basis  and  have 
become  entrenched  in  the  human  mind  through  hasty 
acceptance  of  superficial  knowledge,  the  kind  that  Pope 
called  "a  dangerous  thing."  Millions  of  people  are  ab- 
solutely honest  in  believing  what  is  absolutely  false, 
and  so  they  will  continue  to  believe  until  some  shock 
of  actual  experience  makes  them  skeptical,  when  they 
are  little  better  off  than  before.  If  they  do  not  sub- 
scribe to  the  form  of  a  faith  rather  than  its  spirit,  why 
has  all  Christendom  so  lately  been  warring?  It  is  not 
so  necessary  that  all  people  should  be  enlightened  as 
that  true  sources  of  enlightenment  should  be  open  to 
all.  Moving  pictures  offer  the  medium,  one  that  has 
no  confusion  of  tongues,  not  to  rearrange  native  ca- 
pacity, but  to  place  what  is  worthy  of  confidence  within 
the  reach  of  those  who  really  hunger  for  the  truth. 

Horace  Walpole  came  near  dividing  the  human  race 
into  two  classes  when  he  said  that  the  whole  world 
is  a  comedy  to  those  who  think,  a  tragedy  to  those  who 
feel.  Writers  and  philosophers  who  favor  a  supremacy 
of  the  spirit  over  the  flesh  have  appeared  at  all  periods 
of  recorded  history ;  among  the  earliest  settlers  of  New 
England  who  carried  their  doctrine  of  restraint  into 


68  SCREENCRAFT 

the  gloomy  pretense  of  Puritanism,  among  certain  in- 
tellectual ascetics  of  today.  Out  of  the  necessity  of 
restraint  has  often  arisen  an  idea  that  feeling  should 
be  totally  repressed,  whereas,  far  from  being  modera- 
tion, repression  of  feeling  may  easily  be  immoderation. 
It  is  true  that  the  struggle  for  existence  is  often  a 
bitter  one,  but  it  is  through  feeling  that  bitterness  is 
made  known,  and  through  feeling  it  may  be  assuaged 
by  those  who  unite  to  intellection  broad  sympathies 
and  tender  compassion. 

Poor  people,  whether  their  condition  be  due  to  native 
inability  or  to  the  force  of  circumstances,  become  so 
absorbed  in  their  struggle  that  their  line  of  thought  is 
cramped  by  their  individual  and  immediate  require- 
ments, but  their  minds  may  be  reached  and  powerfully 
affected  through  feeling  as  stirred  by  the  screen  story, 
especially  when  it  appeals  to  that  sense  of  injustice 
which  ever  rankles  in  the  proud  hearts  of  the  unfortu- 
nate. Thinking  men  of  big  hearts  realize  that  injustice 
to  the  poor  is  less  due  to  modern  intention  than  to  the 
artificiality  of  forms  and  conventions  we  have  inherited 
from  the  ages  which  we  are  slow  to  replace  with  im- 
provement because  such  changes  must  be  inaugurated 
for  the  greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number  irre- 
spective of  section  and  class. 

One  effective  way  to  deal  with  those  inherited  artifi- 
cialities of  custom  which  are  responsible  for  injustice 
to  men  who  deserve  better  treatment  is  to  hold  up  to 
ridicule  the  heartless  stupidity  of  privilege,  affected 
standards  of  living  among  those  who  have  never  had 
the  wolf  at  the  door,  hypocrisy  of  those  who  attempt  to 
create  an  impression  of  superiority,  amusing  pomposity 
of  servitors  appointed  to  public  office,  unblushing 
promises  and  hollow  performances  of  professional  poli- 
ticians, business  management  that  is  fawning  to  capi- 
tal and  oppressive  to  honest  labor,  predatory  instinct 
that  thrives  on  exploiting  stolen  invention  and  the 


HUMAN  EMOTIONS  69 

idea  that  a  moment  of  serious  attention  should  be  given 
in  religion,  politics  or  society  to  the  utterances  of  a 
blatant  demagogue. 

While  our  long-suffering  world  may  be  a  great  com- 
edy to  those  who  think,  it  might  not  be  a  bad  idea  for 
them  to  let  us  have  the  benefit  of  their  thoughts,  espe- 
cially for  use  in  motion  pictures.  Screen  stories  go  to 
the  hearts  of  the  people.  Through  their  pictured  se- 
quence of  incidents  many  common  illusions  may  be 
unmasked.  We  would  greatly  enjoy  some  keen  satires 
on  mistaken  conceptions  of  life  and  of  society.  Many 
of  us  can  only  get  at  truth  through  the  process  known 
as  disillusionment.  We  must  laugh  away  the  cobwebs 
in  our  brains  before  we  can  reach  a  state  of  being 
able  to  recognize  the  truth  when  it  is  placed  before 
our  eyes.  We  are  all  willing  to  learn,  and  whatever 
is  a  comedy  to  those  who  think,  a  profound  truth  en- 
wrapped in  satire  might  prove  a  most  delectable  meth- 
od of  disseminating  information. 

While  life  may  be  a  comedy  to  those  who  think, 
while  we  can  use  a  laugh  to  gain  heart  for  ourselves 
to  face  a  struggle,  or  again  to  bring  home  to  the  un- 
heeding some  vital  lesson,  it  is  nevertheless  true  that 
life  is  more  tragic  than  comic  to  those  who  feel. 
Analysis  will  reach  reason,  but  the  recognition  of  the 
most  profound  truths  is  often  rather  the  outcome  of 
feeling  than  of  thinking.  Dramatists  like  Bernard 
Shaw  address  man's  analytic  intellect,  but  they  labor 
in  vain  if  they  attempt  to  disassociate  feeling  from 
man's  activities  in  the  discharge  of  what  he  deems  to 
be  his  duty.  That  he  fought  for  a  principle  in  making 
the  fair  country  in  which  we  live  was  because  of  his 
sense  of  wrong  and  oppression.  Man  was  impelled  by 
his  sensibilities  to  supplant  intolerable  despotism  with 
a  greater  scope  of  individual  freedom.  That  he  devised 
with  reason  and  fought  his  slow  way  to  human  liberty 
does  not  mean  that  sentiment  played  an  insignificant 


70  SCREENCRAFT 

part  in  his  achievement,  but  to  the  contrary — FEEL- 
ING made  the  nation. 

We  are  supposedly  no  longer  in  that  animal  world 
where  one  part  subsists  by  devouring  the  other  part, 
where  sentiment  is  accorded  scant  consideration,  but 
are  striving  through  an  appeal  to  feeling  to  reach  a 
sunshine  of  liberty  and  opportunity  that  each  one  of 
us  may  enjoy  the  privilege  of  utilizing  native  energy 
in  harmony  with  inclination.  Some  of  us  are  confronted 
by  military  prohibitions  and  restraints,  some  by  the 
remorseless  laws  of  custom  handed  down  from  primi- 
tive society,  and  our  tragedies  are  plentiful.  Those 
tragedies  may  seem  at  times  too  pitifully  small  to  be 
of  common  interest,  but,  when  they  are  of  common 
interest,  it  is  the  mission  of  the  playwright  to  make 
them  great  enough  to  reach  popular  approval  through 
the  affections.  So  many  drops  of  water  in  the  human 
stream,  some  of  us  float  along  in  a  tranquil  middle 
course,  others  sweep  in  a  torrent  over  rocks  of  ad- 
versity, others  sink  into  stagnant  pools  of  decadence, 
the  course  of  each  being  very  largely  one  of  directive 
influence. 

That  the  claims  of  feeling  are  quite  as  high  as  those 
of  function  may  be  realized  when  we  consider  our  ef- 
forts to  either  attain  self-control,  or  some  just  form  of 
social  control,  in  restraint  of  powerful  instincts  of 
self-preservation  and  reproduction.  A  vast  amount 
of  training  is  required  to  make  the  immature  human 
creature  understand  that  individual  liberty  may  not  be 
successfully  asserted  against  common  happiness,  to 
nicely  blend  the  idea  of  personal  freedom  with  delicate 
consideration  for  the  rights  of  others.  Even  when  a 
man  has  reached  a  high  degree  of  enlightenment 
through  native  kindness  of  heart  and  fine  cultivation, 
he  still  feels  that  he  is  "created  half  to  rise  and  half 
to  fall,  Great  Lord  of  all  things,  yet  a  prey  to  all.  Sole 


HUMAN  EMOTIONS  71 

judge  of  truth,  in  endless  error  hurled,  the  glory,  jest 
and  riddle  of  the  world." 

What  sensitive  human  plant  lives  without  conscious- 
ness of  an  invisible  and  fatal  power  that  seems  hostile 
to  all  we  hold  dear?  The  presence  that  haunts  us  with 
menace  of  danger  may  be  tragic  distrust  of  ourselves, 
secret  dread  of  our  own  weakness,  or  merely  the  way- 
ward ghost  of  public  opinion.  The  latter  can  be  dis- 
pelled by  courage  and  sincerity,  but  not  so  with  those 
intuitive  apprehensions  of  the  soul  which  were  born  in 
the  darkness  of  primitive  fear  and  have  survived  on  the 
evidence  of  things  not  seen  because  we  do  not  know 
ourselves.  Only  in  the  tragedies  of  love,  for  instance, 
do  we  seem  to  grasp  love's  full  meaning.  Its  normal 
course  very  easily  becomes  a  commonplace  affair. 
The  simple  solution  never  fascinates  like  the  stories 
of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Cyrano  and  Camille.  Tragedies  of 
love  have  held  audiences  enthralled  from  time  beyond 
reckoning. 

How  many  women  have  survived  great  tragedies  of 
love  in  silence,  yet  oppressed  by  suffering  more  intense 
than  man  can  ever  know?  Tragedies  of  the  heart  that 
must  deeply  affect  the  gentler  sex  are  those  of  mother- 
hood. For  the  creator  of  a  human  being  to  see  the 
flesh  of  her  flesh,  the  heart  of  her  heart,  the  very  soul 
of  her  soul,  slipping  away  into  the  fathomless  un- 
known— what  more  poignant  grief  than  hers?  Even 
though  time  bring  recompense,  and  her  bruised  heart 
be  healed,  her  all-too-common  story  is  ever  that  of 
tragedy.  Woman,  because  of  her  tender  affections, 
God-given  to  keep  this  world  beautiful,  becomes  the 
central  figure  of  tragedy  that  softens  our  hearts  and 
sends  our  souls  to  our  eyes.  She  is  sweeter  and  dearer 
to  us  in  sorrow  than  at  any  other  supreme  moment  of 
her  life.  Just  as,  to  quote  a  Castilian  cynic,  the  great- 
est comedy,  the  most  exquisite  joke,  is  the  one  which 
we  feel  in  the  inmost  depth  of  our  minds  and  the  secret 


72  SCREENCRAFT 

of  which  we  will  divide  with  nobody,  not  even  with  our 
most  intimate  friend,  so  the  deepest  tragedy  which 
can  happen  in  the  life  of  man  or  woman  is  the  tragedy 
which  cannot  find  relief  by  shouting  aloud  its  woes 
from  the  housetops.  This  is  more  true  of  woman  than 
of  man,  since  man,  through  the  greater  activity  and 
shifting  chances  of  his  physical  life,  is  more  apt  to 
find  forgetfulness,  thus  relief  from  the  torments  which 
rend  his  inmost  self.  Woman  is  more  handicapped  in 
this  respect,  and  so  the  germs  of  a  tragedy  in  the  heart 
of  woman  will  often  grow  and  finally  break  through 
the  inadequate  restraint  of  modern  life  to  the  social 
destruction  of  the  woman  herself  and  of  her  finest, 
sweetest  ideals. 

It  is  then  that  woman  breaks  with  her  conscience. 
It  is  then  that  we  have  the  key  to  the  greatest  love 
tragedies  of  which  the  human  heart  is  capable,  to  the 
dominance  of  impulse  over  volitional  control — often 
with  death  as  an  atonement — the  final,  the  greatest 
tragedy. 

From  such  a  tragic  note  we  may  derive  either  a 
bitter  corrective  that  acts  as  a  tonic  in  its  spiritual 
and  emotional  effects  or  we  experience  a  psychic  up- 
lift that  tends  to  elevate  and  to  purify  our  finer  ideals. 


DETECTIVE  STORIES 

OR 
THE  VALUE  OF  ANTICIPATION  AND  WONDER 

WONDER  has  been  defined  as  the  effect  of  nov- 
elty upon  ignorance,  but  there  would  appear 
to  be  rational  delight  in  novelty,  especially 
in  the  presentation  of  something  entirely  new  to  the 
mind,  something  that  arrests  attention  because  it  is 
strange,  that  holds  intelligent  attention  until  it  is  un- 
derstood. A  form  of  intellectual  pleasure  may  be 
aroused  in  reaching  an  explanation  of  the  unusual,  or 
of  the  extraordinary,  in  a  story,  particularly  when  that 
story  offers  the  mystery  of  a  crime  for  solution.  A 
low  order  of  mind  can  hardly  be  that  which  enjoys 
making  deductions  from  premises,  or  which  becomes 
easily  engaged  in  watching  how  an  author  reaches  the 
intelligible  essence  of  a  difficult  situation.  On  this 
very  account,  however,  because  the  form  of  entertain- 
ment provided  by  a  detective  story  depends  upon  its 
appeal  to  a  combination  of  wonder  and  reason,  there 
is  peril  in  every  step  of  its  construction.  That  an 
author  may  not  slip  and  fall  at  some  danger  point  in 
such  a  story,  it  is  not  a  bad  idea  for  him  to  have  his 
subject  matter  well  in  hand. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  story  of  crime  mystery 
is  fast  degenerating  to  one  of  stock  properties.  We 
know  exactly  what  is  going  to  happen  when  a  sharp- 
visaged  gentleman  in  a  steamer  cap  appears  on  the 
scene  armed  with  a  pipe  and  a  pocket  lens.  "Hist!" 
This  inscrutable  individual  will  detect  a  button,  a 
finger  imprint,  a  wisp  of  hair,  a  stray  tooth,  or  a  thread 
from  the  murderer's  garment.  It  may  even  be  dis- 
covered that  the  fatal  bullet  is  of  such  peculiar  design 
that  it  only  fits  the  guilty  man's  pistol.  A  weapon 
may  be  found  which  belongs  to  the  hero,  one  neatly 

73 


74  SCREENCRAFT 

engraved  with  his  monogram,  and  when  this  marvel 
of  creative  ingenuity  appears  on  the  screen  we  are 
spared  much  agony  of  mind  by  advance  realization  of 
how  the  hero  will  escape.  We  know  that  the  real 
criminal  will  accurately  time  his  dying  confession  so 
as  to  spare  the  unjustly  accused  an  ignominious  execu- 
tion by  a  hair's  breadth. 

One  is  at  a  loss  to  explain  the  fascination  of  mystery 
well  concealed,  if  it  is  not  to  be  ascribed  to  a  form  of 
intellectual  pleasure.  We  know  that  the  author  is  de- 
liberately throwing  us  off  the  track  at  every  stage  of 
development,  but  we  set  our  wits  against  his  and  re- 
solve to  guess  the  riddle  before  he  tells  us  the  answer. 
Magnificent  human  egotism  is  responsible  for  our  stu- 
dious attention.  We  settle  upon  a  solution  of  our  own 
and  await  confirmation  with  a  degree  of  interest  that 
rivals  concentration  upon  a  game  of  chess.  Such  is 
the  case,  at  least,  with  minds  not  primitive. 

That  noble  sense  of  superiority  which  dignifies  each 
grown  man  as  a  god  in  his  own  estimation  leads  him  to 
untangle  a  string  for  a  child  and,  at  the  same  time, 
demonstrate  to  his  wife  how  easy  it  is  to  overcome 
difficulties  when  one  has  a  preponderance  of  gray  mat- 
ter over  osseous  formation  in  the  cranium.  There  is 
a  suggestion  here  involved.  If  the  writer  of  detective 
stories  expects  to  demonstrate  his  superior  ingenuity, 
it  might  not  be  a  bad  plan  for  him  to  disentangle 
rather  than  cut  his  Gordian  Knot.  Far  from  being 
satisfactory  to  people  of  intelligence,  the  arbitrary  de- 
termination of  a  difficult  problem  is  apt  to  prove  as 
mildly  disappointing  as  the  enthusiasm  of  an  orator 
who  forgets  the  point  he  intended  to  make.  There 
exists  an  arduous  necessity  of  reaching  a  well- 
grounded  conclusion  before  launching  Act  I,  Set  1, 
Scene  1  of  the  scenario. 

Story  visualization  lends  itself  particularly  to  a  form 
of  clairvoyance  which  is  rarely  used,  that  of  getting  at 


DETECTIVE  STORIES  75 

the  mental  aspect  of  a  suspect  by  close  observation  of 
seemingly  unimportant  details  and  by  a  process  of 
reason  which  leads  to  discovery  of  the  criminal.  The 
guilty  betray  themselves  unconsciously.  The  innocent 
may  easily  become  confused  under  examination,  or 
sullen,  or  indignant,  but  cold  and  brazen  defiance  is 
the  weapon  of  guilt.  Police  officers  learn  the  signs, 
though  it  must  be  admitted  that  they  are  not  unfailing, 
and  they  acquire  the  habit  of  studying  conduct  for 
indication  of  hidden  motive.  "She  did  this  and  she 
did  that,"  ponders  the  detective,  action  easily  visual- 
ized, incidentally  revealing  his  methods  of  getting  at 
motive.  "Therefore,"  he  reasons,  and  his  conclusions 
can  be  shown.  What  a  treat  to  view  his  spectacular 
induction ! 

Every  man  mentally  out  of  his  teens  and  able  to  dis- 
count his  bills  has  been  pleased  by  the  flattering  atten- 
tions of  friends  up  to  a  certain  point,  then  he  is  jarred 
with  a  sudden  realization  that  so  much  kindness  and 
consideration  is  rarely  extended  without  an  object  in 
view.  From  that  moment  he  becomes  a  detective  on 
his  own  account  as  a  measure  of  self-protection.  Lack- 
ing woman's  keen  susceptibility  to  impression,  that 
which  occasionally  enables  her  to  get  at  the  truth  by 
intuition,  man  enjoys  discerning  motive  through  con- 
duct, and  on  this  account  he  is  more  deeply  interested 
in  the  plot  than  woman — she  is  chiefly  concerned 
about  how  it  will  turn  out.  To  him  the  value  of  detec- 
tive stories  lies  almost  wholly  in  their  ingenuity.  Once 
ended,  there  is  little  or  no  after  effect,  no  lasting  im- 
pression made,  no  line  of  thought  stimulated,  no  fine 
emotions  aroused — a  riddle  has  been  answered,  and 
that  is  all. 

Inasmuch  as  there  are  many  skillfully-constructed 
detective  stories  shown  today  on  the  screen,  it  would 
seem  as  though  the  inventive  genius  at  work  might 
advance  beyond  contriving  a  good  plot,  especially  in 


76  SCREENCRAFT 

those  numerous  cases  where  the  framework  of  ex- 
planation is  entirely  too  slight  for  the  heavy  ground- 
work of  mystery.  The  intellectuality  involved  might 
strain  a  point  to  weave  strong  human  interest  into  the 
narrative  by  swift  characterization.  Conventions  and 
laws  are  the  delight  of  essayists  who  dig  them  out  of 
the  past  performances  of  successful  writers,  but 
authorship  precedes  criticism — it  has  the  right  of  way 
and  may  set  its  own  pace.  In  the  face  of  all  that  has 
been  said  on  the  subject,  there  still  remains  no  con- 
vincing reason  for  believing  that  the  idea  is  of  minor 
importance,  that  the  plot  is  paramount.  However 
skillfully  it  may  be  contrived,  it  is  nothing  more  or 
less  than  a  formulated  scheme,  usually  of  complicated 
incidents,  an  instrument  to  promote  an  object,  one 
wholly  at  the  author's  service. 

Audiences  grow  weary  of  the  conventional — they  are 
ever  on  the  lookout  for  something  new,  something  dif- 
ferent from  what  has  been  steadily  served  to  them,  the 
latter  including  gross  and  stale  exaggerations  of  melo- 
drama. The  author  of  independent  viewpoint  may 
avoid  futile  methods  of  expression  by  not  depending 
wholly  on  ingenuity  of  plot  in  this  or  in  any  other 
form  of  story,  by  reaching  out  with  his  ideals  and  by 
using  his  depth  of  insight  to  portray  character,  so  that 
when  the  play  is  over  the  audience  may  feel  that  it  has 
glimpsed  an  interesting  phase  of  life,  even  if  that  phase 
be  made  over  in  the  crucible  of  creative  imagination. 


SECRETS 

OR 
LITTLE  TRICKS  OF  STRUCTURE 

"f*\  IVE  the  people  what  they  want,"  says  the  man 
IT  who  wots  but  little  of  the  task  of  writing  a 
great  drama,  a  drama  that  shall  deal  with  hu- 
man emotions,  that  shall  furnish  pleasure  and  recrea- 
tion, and  yet  that  shall  tell  of  something  deep  and 
true  and  universal.  He  who  would  give  the  people 
what  they  truly  want  cannot  write  to  order  unless  his 
love  for  his  subject  be  indeed  great.  If  he  would  warm 
hearts  and  brighten  minds  other  than  his  own,  his 
whole  soul  must  be  in  his  task.  He  must  know  the 
truth  in  order  to  tell  it,  and,  if  he  would  glimpse  the 
secret  of  success,  he  must  know  much  more  than  the 
truth;  he  must  know  a  way  of  making  it  so  beautiful 
that  it  will  soften  all  hearts,  on  its  way  to  its  final 
appeal :  its  spiritual  appeal  to  the  mind. 

A  step  in  the  right  direction  is  to  win  the  audience's 
sympathy  for  one  or  more  leading  characters.  All 
plays  above  farce-comedy  that  depend  entirely  upon 
ingenuity,  or  upon  some  exciting  situation  supposed 
to  be  "dramatic,"  head  for  a  disappointing  slump  at 
the  conclusion  when  the  affections  of  an  audience  have 
not  been  engaged.  The  pleasure  they  give  is  either 
intellectual,  that  of  solving  a  problem,  or  merely  that 
of  gratifying  curiosity  temporarily  stimulated,  and 
they  may  utterly  fail  if  the  situation  is  forced  or  im- 
probable. To  win  at  all  they  must  be  plausible. 

Not  so  the  story  striking  a  tender  chord  in  the  hu- 
man breast.  Once  the  emotions  are  deeply  engaged, 
faults  that  might  seem  glaring  under  other  circum- 
stances are  forgiven  and  improbabilities  are  tolerated. 
Fine  characterization  leads  us  nearer  the  heart  of  giv- 
ing people  what  they  want  than  the  cleverest  of  illu- 

77 


78  SCREENCRAFT 

sions.  Kindly  interest  in  the  characters  makes  the 
way  to  success  decidedly  easier,  but  there  is  a  deeper 
interest ;  our  pictured  people  must  be  created  for  some 
purpose  worth  the  effort  made  to  enlist  sympathy  for 
them. 

But  sympathetic  appeal  alone  does  not  constitute 
success,  nor  is  the  method  whereby  it  may  be  engaged 
the  only  secret  to  success.  The  most  elusive  'quantity 
in  a  story  is  that  which  is  so  carefully  suggestive  at 
the  outset  that  no  strain  shall  be  put  upon  credulity 
in  either  development  or  crisis,  yet  which  mystifies 
while  it  suggests  and  augments  curiosity  as  to  the 
outcome.  It  has  been  entitled  "foreshadowing,"  and 
that  term  may  do  for  lack  of  a  better  one,  though  the 
shadow  of  coming  events  should  only  be  clearly 
enough  defined  to  account  for  strange  happenings 
without  making  it  known  what  they  are  to  be.  It  is  a 
perilous  thing  to  "foreshadow"  events  in  a  story,  es- 
pecially where  there  is  a  condition  of  suspense  to  be 
maintained,  and,  on  this  account,  it  is  rarely  success- 
ful except  when  used  by  experienced  writers.  A  well- 
known  critic  declares,  however,  that  a  story  bears  the 
mark  of  an  amateur,  or  of  a  bungler,  when  it  lacks 
this  very  quality,  so  essential  is  it  to  that  completeness 
of  form  and  structure  which  characterizes  the  work  of 
professionals. 

Plenty  of  true  stories,  if  told  exactly  as  they  hap- 
pened, would  arouse  skepticism,  if  not  derision.  On  the 
other  hand,  a  pure  figment  of  fancy  may  be  so  cleverly 
handled  as  to  give  an  impression,  if  not  of  absolute 
truth,  of  satisfactory  rationality.  Even  the  rational  is 
not  necessary  if  some  beautiful  truth  is  symbolized  in 
purest  romance,  for  the  power  of  that  truth  completely 
overshadows  the  method  of  its  telling — its  guidance  is 
the  more  eagerly  sought  that  we  are  enveloped  in  mist 
— but  it  is  made  particularly  effective  by  aroused  antici- 
pation that  there  exists  a  way  out  of  the  mystery  in 


SECRETS  79 

which  we  are  involved,  if  a  means  of  escape  is  made 
possible  by  delicate  intimation  during  the  early  scenes. 
The  value  of  foreshadowing  lies  not  wholly  in  the  aid  it 
affords  to  realism  and  in  its  contribution  to  the  fine  art 
of  arousing  and  sustaining  interest,  but  also  in  the  fact 
that  its  clever  employment  lends  material  force  to  char- 
acterization. 

An  impression  of  realism  is  rarely  given  by  a  crude 
presentation  of  the  actual  truth.  It  is  almost  purely  a 
question  of  psychology.  Breaches  of  veracity  may  be 
committed  over  and  over  again  if  the  people  in  front 
are  led  to  consider  the  possibility  of  certain  events  and 
become  associated  in  a  sort  of  compact  between  author 
and  audience  which  is  entirely  satisfactory  in  the  end. 
Not  only  during  the  early  stages,  but  just  before  there 
is  a  catastrophe  in  the  visualized  story  may  the  events 
to  come  be  foreshadowed  with  effect.  It  is  done  by  Na- 
ture. We  feel  that  the  atmosphere  is  pregnant  with 
change.  There  is  a  nervous  flight  of  birds;  there  is  a 
sudden  rush  of  fitful  gusts  of  wind ;  the  door  slams  un- 
expectedly ;  the  light  flutters ;  dark  masses  of  cloud  pile 
up  in  the  sky ;  the  action  of  invisible  forces  is  promised, 
forces  over  which  we  can  exert  no  control.  A  cumula- 
tive period  of  preparation  immediately  precedes  a  trag- 
edy. We  shudder  in  anticipation  when  we  might  not 
be  deeply  affected  by  realization.  Forebodings  are 
aroused  that  characters  in  the  visualized  play  are  about 
to  enter  upon  a  struggle  with  Fate,  and  we  are  dis- 
quieted from  sympathy  with  them,  aware  of  the  grad- 
ual approach  of  disaster,  profoundly  interested  in  the 
outcome. 

Even  the  novice  knows  enough  to  have  a  weapon 
shown  during  the  early  stages  of  a  story,  if  it  is  to  be 
used  with  murderous  results  later  on,  but  he  does  not 
give  due  recognition  to  the  fact  that  a  very  large  ma- 
jority of  men  lack  criminal  intent,  that  very  few  have 
murderous  weapons  lying  around  loose,  and  that  they 


80  SCREENCRAFT 

must  be  shown  as  having  periods  of  moral  decadence  to 
account  for  their  committing  a  capital  crime.  Nearly 
all  crimes  are  committed  in  the  pursuit  of  self-gratifica- 
tion at  the  expense  of  society  in  general,  and  the  in- 
telligent man  has  many  means  of  retaliation  against  a 
supposed  enemy  not  so  opposed  by  his  finer  self  as 
murder;  hence  there  is  a  lot  to  show  besides  the 
weapon  itself  in  foreshadowing  the  deliberate  murder 
of  a  fellow-being.  Influences  must  be  indicated  which 
overcome  natural  repugnance  and  fear  of  harsh  punish- 
ment for  the  deed.  Advance  characterization  also  be- 
comes extremely  necessary  in  such  cases. 

It  is  not  to  be  inferred  that  a  noble  end  may  always 
excuse  ignoble  means.  In  simple  illustration  is  the  all- 
too-common  story  of  a  man  hard-pressed  by  misfortune 
and  up  against  the  unexpected  requirement  of  a  sum  of 
money  to  save  a  dear  one's  life.  Temptation  is  placed 
in  his  way  by  chance,  and  he  yields  to  it  on  impulse.  It 
is  more  in  accord  with  experience  and  with  human 
nature  that  he  should  avoid  injuring  others  in  the  pur- 
suit of  a  noble  end.  The  very  compassion  he  feels  indi- 
cates aversion  to  a  criminal  course.  His  underlying 
motive  good,  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  he  will  not  make 
prodigious  efforts  of  the  right  kind  to  save  his  dear 
one  rather  than  burden  that  dear  one  with  a  humiliat- 
ing sense  of  receiving  benefits  all  out  of  harmony  with 
the  means  employed  to  obtain  them. 

Consistency  imposes  a  limitation  of  any  foreshadow- 
ing of  coming  events,  as,  indeed,  it  does  upon  all  kinds 
and  phases  of  dramatic  structure.  To  make  that  struc- 
ture harmonious  in  all  its  parts  neither  the  shadow  nor 
the  events  must  offer  contradiction  to  what  is  com- 
monly known  of  human  nature  and  human  conduct. 
The  shadow  may  be  nebulous,  but  it  must  stand  in 
agreement  with  what  is  to  come,  for  the  excellent 
reason  that  it  is  worse  than  useless,  a  positive  detri- 
ment, when  satisfaction  does  not  result.  The  psychol- 


SECRETS  81 

ogy  involved  is  that  we  all  enjoy  having  formulated  a 
possible  end  to  the  story,  though  we  may  feel  decidedly 
insecure  about  it  during  intermediate  development. 
Part  of  the  scheme  of  suspense  devised  to  hold  an 
audience  on  edge  during  the  presentation  is  that  of 
keeping  the  end  a  secret,  but  it  is  quite  as  essential 
that  we  hint  at  that  end  in  a  mysterious  way  to  set 
that  audience  guessing  at  the  earliest  possible  moment. 
The  writer's  skill  in  arousing  and  holding  the  spec- 
tators' sympathy  with  the  participants  in  the  drama 
they  are  witnessing,  his  artfulness  in  "foreshadowing" 
the  big  events  that  are  to  come,  are  both  important 
factors  in  the  success  of  any  drama.  Yet  there  is  some- 
thing more.  It  has  to  do  with  motivation.  Some  one 
character  wants  something.  There  is  the  clash  of  con- 
tending desires.  In  other  words  the  portrayal  must 
show  contrast. 

In  referring  to  the  use  of  contrast  in  moving  pictures, 
I  fully  recognize  that  the  expedient  is  shared  in  com- 
mon by  all  mediums  of  emotional  expression,  but  it 
seems  to  be  invested  with  freedom  from  difficulty  in 
the  newest  of  arts  and  to  permit  going  back  of  con- 
duct to  the  cause  of  it  more  than  is  always  possible  in 
the  specialized  and  limited  art  of  the  theater.  Noted 
dramatic  antithesis  is  that  of  Othello  and  lago. 
"Imagine,"  says  Bernard  Shaw  in  the  Metropolitan, 
"the  scene  in  which  lago  poisons  Othello's  mind 
against  Desdemona  conveyed  by  dumb  show!"  Tak- 
ing the  distinguished  dramatist  at  his  word,  and  ad- 
mitting the  tremendous  loss  of  lago's  fascinating 
intellectuality,  there  could  be  shown  by  screen  meth- 
ods, not  only  the  contrast  of  character  through  conduct, 
but,  what  is  sorely  lacking  in  the  play,  the  motive 
behind  lago's  "motiveless  malignity."  "lago,"  says 
one  of  Shakespeare's  greatest  admirers,  "is  too  venom- 
ous. His  villainy  is  too  cruel,  too  steadfast,  to  be 
human;  perfect  pitiless  malignity  is  as  impossible  to 


82  SCREENCRAFT 

man  as  perfect  innate  goodness."  Imagine  the  diffi- 
culty of  explaining  the  seemingly  inexplicable  through 
the  medium  of  words,  "the  motive  hunting  of  motive- 
less malignity,"  in  this  notable  triumph  of  the  dra- 
matic art,  yet  screen  methods  permit,  by  throwing  back 
to  motive  behind  lago's  strange  conduct,  constant 
intensifying  revelation  of  his  character  and  purposes, 
and  every  word  picture  used  by  lago  to-  inflame 
Othello's  mind  can  be  made  far  more  vivid  by  direct 
exhibition  to  the  human  eye. 

Back  into  contrast  of  character  screen  methods  may 
draw  us,  before  the  main  action  takes  place,  back  into 
contrast  of  environment,  into  contrast  of  compelling 
circumstance,  even  into  contrast  of  mood.  If  screen 
visualization  has  a  distinguishing  peculiarity,  such  as 
Professor  Mathews  seeks  to  differentiate  the  drama, 
though  far  from  being  an  exclusive  possession,  it  is 
that  it  lends  itself  broadly  and  generously  to  contrast. 
By  way  of  contrasting  screen  presentation  to  that  of 
the  stage,  for  the  benefit  of  Bernard  Shaw  and  all 
others  in  authority,  imagine  the  silent  visualization  of 
Othello  creeping  into  the  chamber  of  Desdemona  in- 
tent on  murder,  as  opposed  to  the  average  stage  player 
creeping  in  so  as  to  make  no  noise,  then  bellowing  at 
the  top  of  his  voice,  "Yet  she  must  die,  else  she'll 
betray  more  men."  I  once  heard  Salvini  shout  this 
noble  sentiment  in  a  voice  calculated  to  rouse  a  toper 
on  the  rear  gallery  seat,  yet  Desdemona  never  fluttered 
an  eyelid.  Imagine  it!  In  this  bedchamber  scene, 
Othello  is  swayed  at  one  moment  by  the  hateful  pas- 
sions lago  had  fanned  into  flame,  but  this  cannot  be 
made  visible  to  remote  portions  of  an  audience,  so  he 
is  compelled  to  shout  it  at  us.  The  figures  of  Othello 
and  sleeping  Desdemona  may  be  brought  up  into  small 
scope  on  the  screen,  so  that  the  hideous  workings  of 
his  mind  may  be  more  eloquently  revealed  in  silence. 

In  demonstrating  the  capacity  for  good  and  evil  in 


SECRETS  83 

human  nature,  screen  methods  permit  the  return  at  any 
moment,  for  purposes  of  emphasis,  to  those  dominating 
influences  which  sway  human  conduct.  We  may  even 
delve  into  the  early  formative  period  of  character  and 
show  how  it  was  sympathetically  nourished  by  intelli- 
gence and  misshapen  by  ignorance.  Asking  an  audi- 
ence to  look  upon  this  picture  and  then  upon  that  not 
only  helps  to  make  the  screen  story  "a  factory  of 
thought,  a  prompter  of  conscience  and  an  elucidator  of 
social  conduct,"  but  it  may  contribute  to  our  slowly 
acquired  store  of  truth.  Small  as  the  number  of  Eng- 
lish-speaking people  completely  submerged  in  ignor- 
ance may  be,  an  enormous  number  are  in  a  state  of 
semi-submergence. 

Scenic  contrast,  impossible  to  present  with  any  de- 
gree of  rapidity  on  the  stage,  robs  the  older  medium  of 
advantages  with  which  the  younger  one  is  richly  en- 
dowed. Sketchy  views  of  life  in  the  open  can  be 
opposed  to  the  cramping  influences  of  city  environ- 
ment. The  actual  squalor  of  tenement-house  poverty 
can  be  illustrated  in  realistic  street  views,  where  men, 
women  and  children  are  crowded  into  filthy  and 
disease-producing  intercourse,  and  thrown  into  in- 
stantaneous contrast  with  whatever  relief  is  afforded 
by  smiling  Nature  in  her  sweetest  moments. 

If  the  essence  of  dramatic  action  lies  in  the  opposi- 
tion of  human  will  to  circumstance,  the  circumstances 
can  only  be  described  in  prose  fiction  and  but  faintly 
indicated  on  the  stage.  They  can  be  shown  in  all  their 
infinite  variety  on  the  screen.  Even  in  recent  achieve- 
ment, photo-dramas  have  revived  some  of  the  long-lost 
splendors  of  setting,  the  natural  framework  for  action, 
and  the  trend  is  now  toward  esthetic  ideals  that  no 
stage  presentation  can  afford  to  copy  if  such  a  thing 
was  possible.  Always  broader  in  its  possibilities,  the 
new  art  is  now  richer  in  scenic  contrast  and  ever  ready 
to  enrich  itself  from  the  wondrous  resources  of  nature. 


84  SCREENCRAFT 

Most  delightful  of  all  contrasts,  and  possibly  the 
most  subtle  of  all,  is  that  of  mood.  Once  in  a  while,  for 
some  reason  not  yet  definitely  determined,  the  intense 
human  being  is  at  the  mercy  of  mood.  Where  there  is 
no  permanent  conversion  of  character  a  man  of  kind 
heart  and  gentle  deeds  becomes  a  gloomy  misanthrope, 
even  a  raging  demon.  As  suddenly,  without  obvious 
reason,  he  returns  to  his  normal  disposition  and  con- 
duct— he  is  subject  to  variation.  This  form  of  con- 
trast is  as  dangerous  as  it  is  difficult  to  portray.  He 
is  often  a  creature  of  dual  life,  because  of  innate  pecul- 
iarity. The  use  of  contrast  thus  embraces  parallelism, 
conflict  of  character,  antithesis  of  scene,  and  an  ele- 
ment of  suspense  growing  out  of  moods  mysterious. 

So  in  the  skillful  use  of  sympathy,  "foreshadowing" 
and  the  art  of  contrast  we  have  three  weapons  through 
the  use  of  which  the  clever  workman  may  make  his 
picturization  more  real,  more  dramatic  and  more  vivid. 


TITLES  AND  SUBTITLES 

OR 

THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  THE  SCREENED  CAPTION 

UNDER  the  general  term  "subtitles"  are  included 
all  explanatory  words  shown  on  the  screen.  The 
word  "title,"  itself  defined  as  "an  inscription 
placed  over  something  to  distinguish  or  specialize  it," 
is  largely  inclusive,  but  it  is  here  narrowed  to  the 
name  of  the  story.  What  that  first  caption  shall  be  has 
ever  been  the  hardest  problem  writers  have  had  to 
solve.  So  much  depends  upon  it  that  literary  failures 
have  been  suddenly  transformed  to  those  of  success 
by  a  change  for  the  better  in  the  name  of  a  book.  The 
critic,  quite  as  well  as  is  the  public,  is  affected  by 
what  first  reaches  the  eye,  the  initial  clue  to  the  qual- 
ity of  what  is  to  follow. 

No  guide  can  be  offered  to  the  selection  of  a  title 
which  will  lead  to  superior  results.  The  author  of 
brilliant  imagination  is  surest  to  conceive  of  what  is 
apt  to  make  a  hit,  yet  he  fails  notably  where  the  ama- 
teur strikes  the  mark  with  a  chance  shot.  Perhaps 
the  best  suggestions  to  be  offered  are  those  indicating 
what  to  avoid,  and  first  of  these,  quite  possibly  the 
commonest,  is  the  error  of  selecting  a  title  which  indi- 
cates the  plot  —  "They  Loved  in  Vain,"  "After  Many 
Years,"  "Won  at  Last,"  and  the  like.  Such  preliminary 
announcements  spare  us  any  anxiety  about  the  termi- 
nation even  when  they  do  not  entirely  repress  curiosity 
during  development. 

To  find  a  name  which  excites  interest  without  plot 
disclosure,  which  is  entirely  appropriate  to  some  im- 
portant phase  of  the  narrative  without  revealing  con- 
sequences, and  has,  at  the  same  time,  a  pulse  beat 
rhythm  all  its  own,  is  a  quest  of  Diogenes.  One  needs 
the  lantern  of  a  bright  mind  to  find  it.  "Paid  in  Full" 

85 


86  SCREENCRAFT 

strikes  a  blow  of  its  own  and  excites  interest  clear 
up  to  the  crisis.  "Born  or  Made"  opens  up  a  splendid 
problem.  To  sound  the  keynote,  or  even  to  suggest 
the  dominant  theme  without  being  too  general,  mean- 
while not  spoiling  what  is  to  be  anticipated  by  advance 
realization,  seems  to  be  the  ideal  so  many  are  searching 
for  and  so  few  find. 

The  writer  of  cramped  vocabulary,  as  well  as  the 
one  of  limited  imagination.,  heads  his  script  with  "The" 
something  or  other,  and  even  doubles — "The  Bandits 
of  the  Prairie,"  when  "Soldiers  of  Fortune"  would  do 
just  as  well  and  sound  better.  Professionals  err  oc- 
casionally in  this  respect,  but  the  amateur  announces 
his  incompetence  at  once  with  his  awkward  beginning. 
Carelessness  at  the  outset  does  not  promise  infinite 
pains  with  the  general  plan  and  failure  is  cordially  in- 
vited by  the  easily-satisfied  subtitle. 

In  an  art  of  no  traditions,  and  one  of  few  illuminat- 
ing examples,  confusion  as  to  the  use  of  subtitles  is  to 
be  expected.  Every  man,  whether  or  not  he  can  write 
a  play,  can  write  about  it,  and  he  becomes  a  law  unto 
himself  when  called  upon  to  direct  the  visualization  of 
a  scenario.  A  self-appointed  editor  once  sliced  about 
half  the  subtitles  in  a  carefully  composed  script  for  a 
five-reel  feature  and  explained  that  a  customer  "up 
state"  said  there  were  too  many  subtitles  in  the  pic- 
ture. Their  appropriateness  was  a  minor  considera- 
tion. The  man  from  "up  state"  probably  meant  that 
screen  announcements  of  the  obvious  were  unneces- 
sary, and  we  all  agree  with  him.  This  does  not  mean 
that  vigor  and  vitality  of  explanatory  phrase  shall  be 
punished  in  retaliation,  shot  down  as  a  terrifying 
example. 

Suppose  the  action  of  the  day  is  finished,  the  lovers 
have  been  introduced.  Something  happens  next  day 
and  next  day.  There  are  periods  to  be  covered  with- 
out wearisome  repetition.  A  hint  is  enough. 


TITLES  AND  SUBTITLES  87 

Time  now  yields  to  Youth  and  Love 
And  counts  its  days  in  briefest  hours. 

In  fact,  the  poetic  title,  when  appropriate,  is  more  ef- 
fective than  prose.  Some  of  the  freshness,  inventive- 
ness and  fantastic  charm  that  we  enjoy  in  the  printed 
story  is  not  wholly  out  of  place  in  subtitling  the  visual- 
ized one. 

One  strong  photodrama,  suggested  by  a  poem, 
worked  the  action  up  to  points  where  the  verse  struck 
the  telling  blows.  In  another,  a  most  spontaneous 
laugh  came  from  the  thousands  gathered  there  because 
of  a  cleverly  placed  subtitle,  where  the  action  itself 
excited  no  particular  amount  of  amusement.  The  art 
was  Shakespearean  in  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 
There  is  another  art,  and  one  quite  as  important — that 
of  bringing  out  the  peculiar  qualities  of  a  screen  per- 
sonage through  exhibiting  morsels  of  conversation. 
There  are  times  when  it  is  irritating  to  an  audience 
that  this  is  not  done.  To  see  people  mouthing  at  each 
other  and  be  compelled  to  guess  at  their  utterances  is 
not  an  undiluted  joy  for  those  in  front. 

In  the  first  act  of  a  five-reel  feature,  while  there  is  in 
view  a  later  purpose  to  represent  life,  there  are  opening 
situations  and  relations  capable  of  being  explained  in  a 
few  words  which  would  require  dozens  of  visualized 
scenes  to  make  clear.  It  is  not  always  possible  to  de- 
termine at  a  glance  whether  the  attractive  lady  cling- 
ing to  the  gentleman's  arm  is  his  sister,  or  his  cousin, 
or  his  wife,  or  some  other  fellow's  wife.  It  might  be 
easy  to  interpret  his  question,  "Do  you  love  me?"  but 
who  can  picturize  hers,  "How  much  are  you  worth?" 
We  must  shamelessly  print  it  or  relegate  her  motives 
to  obscurity.  Yet  we  need  not  fall  into  the  verbal  re- 
dundance of  the  transformed  stage  play.  Nothing  is 
to  be  gained  by  concealing  a  painful  truth  concerning 
them ;  most  of  them  contain  so  little  worth  visualizing 


88  SCREENCRAFT 

that  the  screen  versions  are  more  or  less  reflective  of 
their  most  cherished  utterances. 

Whether  an  author  is  attempting  to  give  new  life 
and  form  to  old  novels  and  dramas,  or  whether  he  is 
writing  straight  from  his  own  heart  and  mind,  his  own 
thoughts,  his  own  individuality  will  be  manifest  in  his 
subtitles.  Good  style  and  good  selective  taste  in  this 
portion  of  the  photodrama,  far  more  than  that  part 
treated  by  the  director,  reveal  the  texture  of  the 
author's  thought.  His  style  is  apt  to  be  the  result  of 
his  ideas  more  than  of  his  vocabulary,  and  he  has  an 
advantage  over  the  writer  of  fiction  in  his  freedom  to 
borrow,  to  take  from  other  sources  what  exactly  suits 
his  ideas  and  present  them  lucidly. 

The  most  beautiful  titular  form,  where  there  is  some- 
thing to  be  said  that  is  really  worth  while,  is  that  of 
poetry.  The  great  poets  of  all  ages  have  built  treasure 
houses  for  the  jewels  of  thought.  They  have  gathered 
the  crude  ideas  of  their  generation  and  shaped  them 
into  song.  From  these  accumulations  may  be  drawn 
nearly  all  the  requisites  of  the  subtitle,  particularly  of 
that  superior  kind  in  which  all  is  said  that  should  be 
said  and  nothing  else  besides.  Their  finest  composi- 
tions often  contain  exactly  what  is  suited  to  subtitling 
the  pictured  story,  of  offering  no  sentence  without  a 
meaning  to  it.  Their  logical  application  and  their  en- 
tire appropriateness  assured,  they  furnish  what  the 
author  seeks  and  the  audience  most  likes— "much  in 
little."  The  oldest  of  literary  counsels  affords  a  fairly 
safe  guide.  In  this  phase  of  your  work  let  good  taste 
and  sound  critical  judgment  prevail. 


PLOTS  MANY  AND  VARIED 

OR 
DEVELOPMENT  OF  THE  THEME 

WHEN  Shakespeare  said  "the  play's  the  thing," 
he  did  not  dream  that,  in  a  later  century,  a 
new  art  would  come  out  of  nothing  and  de- 
velop into  a  rival  of  the  legitimate  stage.  Nor  could 
he  have  dreamt  that  the  saying  which  he  coined  to 
illustrate  certain  vital  necessities  of  his  period  and  his 
own  art  would  have  to  be  radically  changed,  would 
indeed  have  to  be  turned  inside  out,  to  fit  the  require- 
ments of  the  latter  art. 

It  is  indeed  true  that  in  the  case  of  many  photo- 
dramas  "the  plot's  the  thing."  By  that  word  we  mean 
no  narrow,  limited  thing  even  though  it  is  true  that 
the  source  of  artifice  rather  than  of  art,  stage  presenta- 
tion, has  narrowed  the  broad  meaning  of  story  plot 
from  a  general  plan  to  a  specific  complication.  The 
playwright  who  feels  that  he  must  adhere  to  tradition, 
another  name  in  this  case  for  imitation,  gives  his  first 
attention  to  plotting  a  plot.  He  feels  that  he  must 
"mix  those  children  up"  so  that  they  will  meet  with  a 
snarl  of  difficulties  before  they  are  extricated  from  the 
entanglement  in  which  he  started  them.  Such  is  the 
theatrical  idea  of  plot,  and  it  has  its  merits.  One  in  a 
hundred  times  it  may  work  up  to  an  interesting  HIGH 
SCENE,  a  tense  moment,  but  the  author  must  have 
that  in  view  from  the  start  and  not  lose  sight  of  it  for  a 
moment.  The  stage  plot  is  very  exacting.  Its  creator 
is  under  the  thumb  of  his  audience.  He  must  consider 
suspense  to  be  of  highest  value  in  his  problem  and  he 
must  justify  it  with  a  solution  at  once  logical  and  un- 
expected. 

A  close  investigation  of  the  plot  theatrical  may  dis- 
cover that  modern  authors  have  been  led  into  an  over- 

89 


90  SCREENCRAFT 

estimation  of  plot  by  superficial  knowledge  of  the  old 
stories  they  consciously,  sometimes  unconsciously,  imi- 
tate. They  seek  to  stimulate  curiosity  through  compli- 
cation rather  than  stimulate  the  emotions  by  portray- 
ing the  spiritual  side  of  human  nature.  "Plot,"  says 
one  critic,  "may  be  defined  as  any  sequence  of  events 
making  or  marring  happiness,  success  or  achievement. 
It  is  not  necessarily  emotional  nor  spontaneous."  He 
struggles  to  explain  it  for  a  few  lines,  then  scuttles 
his  ship  as  follows,  "Plot  is  capable  of  such  infinite 
methods  of  treatment  that  rules  are  valueless  and  in- 
struction of  little  practical  aid.'*  Another  says,  "Plot 
is  the  basis  or  framework  of  fiction,"  "It  carries  a 
problem  and  a  solution."  "The  problem  to  be  solved 
is  of  no  greater  importance  than  the  solution."  At 
last  we  get  light.  He  takes  the  trouble  to  enumerate 
the  hopelessly  trite. 

"(1)  The  mistaken  identity  idea.  (2)  The  rescue 
with  love-gratitude  climax.  (3)  The  lost  or  altered 
will.  (4)  The  poor  versus  the  rich  suitor.  (5)  The 
cruel  father  or  stepmother.  (6)  The  resisted  tempta- 
tion to  be  dishonest,  or  redemption  after  dishonesty. 
(7)  Heaping  coals  of  fire.  (8)  Unjust  suspicion. 
(9)  The  neglected  parent.  (10)  Reformation  of  the 
villain  by  the  little  child."  These  are  a  few.  Closely 
examined,  it  would  seem  as  though  there  was  a  con- 
fusion in  this  list  of  plot,  characterization  and  theme. 
The  critic  finally  reaches  a  very  simple  classification, 
declaring  that  plots  are  of  three  kinds,  1,  the  ingenious; 
2,  the  detective,  and,  3,  the  problem.  He  might  as  well 
have  grouped  them  all  under  "problem." 

The  plot  theatrical  is  virtually  a  problem,  whose 
solution  is  the  important  factor.  Brander  Mathews 
says  that  "the  situations  a  dramatist  may  use  are  very 
few — their  ultimate  value  is  that  they  enable  the  dra- 
matist to  reveal  human  nature."  We  are  still  getting 
light.  The  solution  counts  and  revelation  of  human 


PLOTS  MANY  AND  VARIED  91 

nature  is  of  greater  importance  than  situation.  So 
many  bright  minds  have  been  applied  to  the  discovery 
of  what  is  structurally  essential  to  dramatic  success 
that  we  may  still  gain  light  by  investigation  of  these 
views.  Brunetiere  declares  that  the  stage  play  is  for 
the  "development  of  the  human  will,  attacking  the  ob- 
stacles opposed  to  it  by  destiny,  fortune  or  circum- 
stance." Barrett  H.  Clark  comments  that  it  is  "dra- 
matic to  personify  great  social  or  political  forces  or 
'wills'  in  individuals."  "The  rights  of  the  individual," 
says  Charlton  Andrews,  "as  against  his  duties  to  his 
environment  form  the  basis  of  nine-tenths  of  the  suc- 
cessful plays,  since  Ibsen  at  least."  Still  more  light — 
the  dramatist  must  be  a  thinker. 

The  rights  of  the  individual !  What  are  those  rights? 
We  may  not  know  them  well  enough  to  define  them, 
but  we  feel  them.  From  this  feeling  has  grown  a  broad 
sympathy.  We  become  concerned  in  HUMAN 
RIGHTS.  We  revolt  against  any  form  of  injustice. 

Aglow  with  a  live  subject,  we  study  our  THEME 
from  every  advanced  point  of  view,  embody  ideas  in 
our  characters,  bring  them  into  romantic  relation,  de- 
velop the  human  will  in  opposition  to  the  obstacles  of 
environment,  call  on  creative  imagination  for  interest- 
ing situations  and  formulate  a  story.  The  general  plan 
of  that  story  is  the  plot. 

A  plot  may  justly  be  regarded  as  a  working  plan 
of  action  and  a  diagram  of  character  relations.  But 
this  does  not  necessitate  that  plots  bear  a  constant 
similarity  one  to  the  other.  There  is  room  for  origi- 
nality. The  constant  reappearance  of  outworn  intrigue 
is  due  quite  as  much  to  insincerity  as  to  incompetency 
of  writers.  They  depend  on  simulation  rather  than 
upon  originality,  and  betray  themselves  by  trying  to 
make  interest  in  a  story  depend  entirely  upon  its  gen- 
eral scheme,  by  considering  its  design  rather  than  its 


92  SCREENCRAFT 

aim,  instead  of  subordinating  incident  and  situation  to 
theme. 

The  ancient  triangle  of  husband,  wife  and  lover  has 
been  industriously  jingled  for  many  decades,  and  it 
may  always  remain  as  one  piece  in  the  orchestra,  its 
little  note  sounding  whenever  it  suits  the  whole,  but 
it  palls  as  a  solo  instrument.  The  idle  married  woman 
suffers  from  ennui.  Her  husband's  devotion  to  work 
is  ascribed  to  neglect.  She  is  at  the  mercy  of  the 
predatory  villain.  There  is  a  struggle  at  the  close  ot 
which  the  wife  either  falls  into  disrepute,  or  she  re- 
pents in  time  and  is  folded  in  hubby's  arms,  thereby 
causing  our  honest  countenances  to  be  suffused  with  a 
glow  of  intense  gratification. 

Quite  as  popular  with  those  authors  whose  equipment 
is  plenty  of  paper,  pens  and  ink,  and  two  arms,  may  be 
the  story  of  the  beautiful  working  girl  persecuted  by 
the  villainous  head  of  her  department  in  the  store,  or 
by  the  millionaire  decadent  who  dangles  a  cigarette 
from  his  under  lip  as  he  objectively  contemplates  the 
subject  of  his  dark  schemes.  Or  she  may  be  an  inno- 
cent country  girl  caught  in  the  web  of  a  spider-legged 
city  chap  until  Jim  comes  down  from  the  farm  to  see 
how  she  is  getting  along,  and  takes  her  back  home. 
There  is  something  so  delightfully  unlike  the  Ameri- 
can girl  in  this  innocent  and  much-persecuted  fe- 
male that  she  should  be  typed  from  our  imported  un- 
intelligence  to  be  in  keeping  with  the  role. 

Then  there  is  Cinderella,  the  slave  of  envious  ones, 
ragged,  poorly  nurtured,  destitute  of  opportunity;  how 
happy  we  feel  when  Prince  Charming  comes  along  and 
enables  her  to  turn  up  her  nose  at  her  wicked  sisters ! 
Quite  another  Prince  Charming  may  be  the  inadvertent 
guardian  of  an  unhappy  child,  and  watch  her  flower 
from  an  ugly  little  bud,  while  gray  hair  appears  over 
his  temporal  bone  and  leads  him  to  decide  that  some 


PLOTS  MANY  AND  VARIED  93 

fair-haired  boy  is  better  equipped  to  guide  and  protect 
her. 

Husbands  who  have  accumulated  silver  shreds 
among  the  bald  and  a  certain  amount  of  wisdom  in 
the  process  are  then  set  down  as  mentally  incompetent 
when  their  wives  secretly  embrace  erring  brothers. 
Such  benedicts  are  often  pictured  in  the  act  of  shoot- 
ing, or  of  shooting  at,  the  erring  brother,  to  the  subse- 
quent edification  of  all  concerned.  But  when  it  comes 
to  deeds  murderous,  no  plot  is  so  strongly  entrenched 
as  that  of  the  unjustly  accused.  All  evidence  points 
to  the  guilt  of  the  hero — even  the  deadly  weapon  gives 
silent  testimony  against  him — and  yet  we  know  he  is 
innocent.  How  can  he  escape?  We  suffocate  as  he 
is  about  to  be  executed.  Then,  when  all  seems  lost,  the 
ingenious  playwright  has  the  villain  confess  all,  and  we 
breathe  again. 

Those  sweet  little  girls  with  hair  in  curls,  bare  feet 
and  "nighties,"  who  reconcile  estranged  parents  by 
putting  mamma's  hand  in  papa's  hand,  are  busily  occu- 
pied these  days,  for  each  one  has  to  reform  a  burglar 
when  he  calls  for  the  family  silver.  If  the  noble 
burglar  is  in  a  dress  suit,  and  caught  by  a  suspicious 
husband  in  the  bedchamber,  we  are  brought  to  a  pro- 
found realization  that  one  may  steal  for  a  living  and 
yet  have  a  delicate  sense  of  honor  about  women.  For 
the  sake  of  the  uplift,  gentle  woman's  predilection  for 
bridge  whist  and  motor  cars  is  regularly  contrasted 
with  man's  intense  longing  for  the  pure  and  calming 
influence  of  home,  provided  always  that  his  "occa- 
sional" is  not  stronger  than  orange  phosphate. 

But  that  these  old  and  hackneyed  plots  are  so  con- 
stantly recurring  is  not  the  fault  of  the  medium  for 
which  they  are  prepared.  In  no  art  can  the  medium 
— which  is,  after  all,  nothing  but  the  technical  vehicle 
of  art — be  held  responsible  for  the  shortcomings  of 
the  man  who  uses  it  to  express  his  ideas.  It  is  so  with 


94  SCREENCRAFT 

the  screen  drama.  There,  too,  the  chief  blame  rests 
with  the  laziness  and  the  lack  of  ability  of  the  creative 
artist,  the  writer.  Life  itself,  with  the  character  de- 
lineation that  serves  to  make  for  individuality  and  the 
motivation  that  accounts  for  all  human  actions  under 
whatever  circumstances,  can  be  portrayed  in  all  its 
richness  and  fullness.  Why  then  should  the  writer  be 
satisfied  with  handling  the  old  themes  and  situations 
in  the  same  old,  worn-out  ways?  If  we  are  drafting 
from  humanity  for  the  entertainment  of  humanity  why 
not  let  revelations  of  purpose  behind  action  come  to 
us  in  a  natural  way,  little  by  little,  just  as  in  life  it  is 
that  we  gradually  find  out  about  those  people  whom 
we  may  eventually  distrust. 

The  one  form  of  drama  that  will  always  arouse  the 
interest  and  hold  it  until  the  last  picture  has  been 
shown  on  the  screen  is  the  struggle  that  takes  place 
within  the  soul  of  the  actors,  in  other  words,  there 
should  be  a  presentation  of  the  emotions  rather  than 
a  presentation  of  the  screen  performers'  physical 
actions. 

The  human  brain,  which  is  the  source  of  every  ac- 
tion, is  a  continuous  screen  drama — at  times  a  screen 
comedy — in  itself.  The  sensitive  film  is  that  part  of 
it  which  constantly  receives  and  develops  impressions 
from  without.  When  these  impressions  become  fixed 
in  our  dark  room,  the  cranial  laboratory,  they  are 
canned  and  put  away  for  future  use.  They  can  be 
taken  out  of  the  storehouses  of  memory  and  projected 
before  the  mind  when  needed,  and  on  very  short  notice. 
We  can  even  run  two  shows  at  the  same  time  by  re- 
calling two  different  lines  of  events  and  thus  put  them 
in  what  might  be  called  juxtaposition.  This  helps  us 
in  making  comparisons  and  contrasts,  so  that  we  arrive 
at  conclusions  from  past  experience. 

When  we  think,  we  are  reviewing  the  impressions 
that  our  brain  has  received.  The  result  of  thought  has 


PLOTS  MANY  AND  VARIED  95 

given  most  of  us  enough  intelligence  to  know  that  to 
preserve  the  unit  we  must  preserve  the  community. 
This  is  why  we  insist  on  our  rights  and  insist  upon  all 
taking  a  just  share  in  mutual  responsibility.  Herein 
lies  the  secret  of  social  instinct.  When  we  feel  that 
we  have  lost  something  contained  in  the  sum  of  com- 
mon benefit  we  suffer  a  disturbance  within  us  which 
we  recognize  as  one  of  emotion,  usually  manifested 
by  the  presence  of  excitement. 

Another  kind  of  emotion  is  that  which  looks  for- 
ward with  pleasurable  anticipation,  the  hope  which 
may  sustain  us  in  our  darkest  hours.  We  can  actually 
enjoy  imaginary  gratifications,  hence  the  well-known 
saying  that  anticipation  is  usually  better  than  realiza- 
tion. 

Out  of  these  emotions,  quite  as  well  as  from  animal 
instincts,  grow  the  powerful  desires  which  may  sway 
our  lives  at  times,  even  cause  us  to  break  the  social 
compact.  The  half -blind  desire  to  attain  an  ideal  love, 
the  absorbing  desire  to  accumulate  wealth  and  power, 
these  constitute  tremendous  forces  within  the  individ- 
ual, forces  which  may  desperately  conflict  with  the 
social  and  moral  part  of  our  natures,  battling  through- 
out the  whole  course  of  life  against  reason,  sympathy 
and  affection.  This  is  the  soul  drama,  none  the  less 
intense  that  it  is  hidden. 

One  great  drama  of  the  soul,  if  not  the  greatest,  is 
that  of  a  strong  general,  a  conqueror  of  men,  unable  to 
conquer  himself,  Othello.  A  man  of  lofty  pride  and 
high  sentiments,  he  is  hated  by  lago  because  of  his 
unconscious  assumption  of  superiority,  and  led  on  by 
"trifles  light  as  air"  to  a  state  of  emotional  weakness 
where  those  trifles  become  "confirmations  strong  as 
holy  writ."  He  becomes  racked  with  doubt,  distraught 
with  jealousy,  maddened  with  passion,  over  a  handker- 
chief, raging  like  an  imbecile  against  all  the  world,  a 
caricature  of  himself  when  "his  occupation's  gone." 


96  SCREENCRAFT 

Another  great  soul  drama,  possibly  the  most  pro- 
found ever  written,  is  that  of  the  incomparable  Hamlet. 
Probably  more  has  been  written  about  the  man  who 
deemed  it  wise  "to  know  thyself"  than  of  any  other 
fictional  character,  maybe  because  many  brilliant  men 
feel  like  Coleridge — "I  have  a  smack  of  Hamlet  myself, 
if  I  may  say  so."  It  is  claimed  that  Shakespeare  de- 
picted himself  in  this  wondrous  soul  revelation.  He 
depicted  a  man  much  like  the  rest  of  us  in  one  seldom- 
confessed  respect — we  are  creatures  of  two  opposing 
wills  struggling  for  mastery. 

There  is  in  the  commonplace  hero  of  fiction  an  al- 
most constant  exercise  of  the  will  on  the  side  of  higher 
sentiments  as  against  the  lower  impulse  or  desire.  In 
real  life  the  impulse  which  prevails  is  not  always  the 
best  one,  and  from  obedience  to  the  prevailing  desire 
we  fall  into  errors  of  judgment  and  conduct.  Know- 
ing the  right  course  to  pursue,  why  do  we  ever  do 
wrong?  From  a  comprehensive  viewpoint  it  looks 
very  much  as  though  habits  judiciously  formed  in 
youth  prompt  us  to  do  right  spontaneously,  without 
any  effort  of  that  doubtful  force  known  as  "will,"  for 
it  is  easy  to  become  the  slave  of  a  habit. 

Othello's  criminal  act  was  not  that  of  a  great  mind, 
but  of  a  mind  so  weak  that  it  permitted  another  to 
,  completely  misdirect  it.  Yielding  constantly  to  the 
promptings  of  lago  and  to  his  own  base  suspicions,  a 
mad  desire  to  kill  acquired  dominance  of  his  soul. 
Hence  the  criminal  action  of  murdering  an  innocent 
and  loving  wife  can  only  be  regarded  as  the  expression 
of  a  protracted  course  of  criminal  thought.  A  man 
is  held  responsible  for  such  acts  by  society,  though  he 
may  have  temporarily  lost  the  power  of  self-control, 
because  he  is  a  dangerous  weakling  unable  to  resist  his 
worst  impulses. 

The  character  of  Hamlet  is  a  nobler  one  because  of 
rather  than  in  spite  of  its  vacillation.  Nursing  a  deep 


PLOTS  MANY  AND  VARIED  97 

sense  of  injury,  with  a  father's  murder  to  avenge,  he 
falters  because  he  recognizes  a  Higher  Will  than  his 
own  as  the  source  of  power  he  can  exert.  His  clear 
measurement  of  himself  stirs  within  him  a  loftier 
measure  of  his  Creator.  A  sweet  moral  purity  within 
him,  combined  with  a  strong  sense  of  eternal  justice, 
brings  about  a  terrible  soul  struggle,  now  one  desire, 
now  another,  prevailing  in  his  mind.  The  ideas  he 
derives  from  reflection,  however,  gradually  yield  to  his 
passion  for  revenge  until  he  becomes  the  sport  of  in- 
tellectual vagaries  and  the  ultimate  slave  of  a  mur- 
derous impulse. 

It  will  appear  that  the  soul  drama,  while  confined  to 
an  individual  field,  is  very  largely  a  matter  of  external 
influence.  Each  of  us  has  a  volitional  power,  it  is  true, 
but  it  may  be  turned  into  bad  channels  quite  as  well 
as  to  good  account.  A  great  deal  depends  upon  the 
direction  in  which  it  is  employed.  We  may  be  in- 
clined to  benevolence;  we  may  be  aware  of  a  con- 
science; we  may  respond  nobly  to  the  suggestions  of 
affection ;  yet  our  attention  may  be  so  habitually  fixed 
on  the  gratification  of  selfish  propensities,  such  as 
making  money,  that  our  powers  of  mind  may  be  used 
only  for  hypocrisy  and  dissimulation. 

In  depicting  the  human  soul,  it  might  be  as  well 
assumed  at  the  outset  that  there  is  an  abuse  as  well 
as  use  for  its  gifts  and  acquirements.  It  will  not  do  to 
assume  that  our  propensities  and  passions  are  evil  in 
themselves,  but  only  so  in  misdirection  and  excessive 
gratification.  Strong  emotions  may  easily  give  force 
to  a  character  of  high  ideals. 


INTELLIGENT  CHARACTERI- 
ZATION 

AND 
THE  ACTOR  VERSUS  TYPE 

INTELLIGENT  characterization  counts  enormously 
in  the  telling  of  a  story.  It  is  one  of  the  prime 
factors  in  the  novelist's  art,  and  skill  therein  is  of 
equal  moment  to  him  who  would  make  an  effective 
photoplay.  But  how  in  the  world  can  intelligent  char- 
acterization, the  one  charm  to  be  counted  upon  "in 
putting  over"  a  mediocre  story,  be  expected  of  authors 
who  are  either  incapable  of  understanding  human  na- 
ture, or  who  do  not  see  the  necessity  of  winning  inter- 
est through  establishing  the  distinguishing  qualities 
of  their  leading  characters.  We  rarely  become  interested 
in  people  of  the  passing  crowd,  while  our  sympathies 
may  be  easily  stirred  for  those  we  come  to  know.  In 
order  to  appreciate  both  action  and  the  motive  behind 
action  in  screen  stories,  we  must  have  some  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  leading  personalities  brought 
to  our  attention.  To  depict  mere  movement  without 
meaning  is  to  revert  to  the  first  moving  pictures  ever 
exhibited,  yet  it  is  being  done  day  after  day  by  pro- 
ducers whose  estimate  of  the  public  is  that  of  their  own 
limitations. 

Now  and  then  a  story  is  flashed  on  the  screen  which 
soon  warms  our  hearts.  We  see  in  the  evolution  of  an 
individual  something  akin  to  ourselves,  or  to  humanity 
as  we  know  it,  and  we  soon  get  the  impression  that  we 
are  looking  at  something  that  has  really  happened. 
Even  inconsistencies  are  excused,  so  prepossessed  have 
we  become  with  the  fascinating  personality  before  us. 
It  may  be  a  comedy,  a  castigation  of  our  defects;  it 
may  be  a  tragedy,  convicting  society  of  wrongdoing; 

98 


INTELLIGENT  CHARACTERIZATION  99 

it  may  be  an  intense  drama,  scourging  the  injustice  of 
cherished  institutions;  we  may  become  absorbed  in 
the  outcome  of  a  crucial  situation — what  would  it  all 
amount  to  if  we  were  called  upon  to  merely  watch  a 
picture  and  not  the  projection  of  human  character, 
authentic,  veracious,  and  readily  understood?  We 
might  occasionally  be  entertained,  but  we  would  sel- 
dom be  impressed. 

Only  an  author  of  exceptional  perceptions,  partaking 
of  the  intuitive,  need  attempt  the  construction  of  indi- 
vidual types  without  study.  Characterology  has  be- 
come a  science  to  be  studied  from  the  two  points  of 
sex  view  and  from  that  of  humanity  in  general.  It  is 
not  entirely  safe  to  consider  the  gentler  sex  of  today 
from  even  the  standpoint  of  the  Immortal  Bard.  "She's 
beautiful,  and,  therefore,  to  be  wooed ;  she  is  a  woman, 
therefore  to  be  won."  She  is  not  so  simple  as  she  was. 
A  finer  ideal  of  her  arose  more  than  a  half  century  ago 
in  "Ingomar,  the  barbarian,  and  Parthenia,"  an  ideal 
that  has  persisted  in  thousands  of  stories  since  then, 
in  "The  Great  Divide"  and  similar  plays,  all  portraying 
a  semi-cultivated  man  winning  through  brute  force 
and  brought  to  a  finer  realization  of  himself  through 
woman's  refining  influence. 

The  sexes  must  be  considered  as  they  are,  and  this 
means  the  whole  domain  of  human  consciousness,  if  we 
are  to  progress  from  elemental  ideas  into  the  present 
fascinating  complex  of  human  character,  yet  this  re- 
search need  not  be  carried  away  from  the  lines  of 
Nature.  Our  impulses  and  emotions  are  much  the 
same  as  they  always  were — they  are  possibly  intensi- 
fied— but  we  are  obliged  more  and  more  to  consider 
the  domination  of  mind  over  what  might  as  well  be 
called  "our  former  selves."  Not  to  consider  mind  and 
the  power  it  exerts  over  the  elemental  within  us  is  to 
confess  its  absence  in  character  analysis.  She  is  noble, 
sweet,  pure  and  lovely,  and,  therefore,  to  be  wooed. 


100  SCREENCRAFT 

She  is  a  splendid  woman,  and  therefore  to  be  splendidly 
won. 

An  infinite  variety  of  portrayals  may  show  the  super- 
man of  today  in  a  struggle  to  subordinate  his  "former 
self"  to  the  requirements  of  higher  civilization.  He 
might  easily  be  placed,  through  double  exposure,  in  the 
position  of  a  spectator  to  the  combat  going  on  within 
him.  His  finer  self  can  be  so  spiritual  'as  to  stand 
aloof,  outself  himself,  superior  to  his  fate,  and  thus 
free  to  control  the  Old  Adam,  free  to  regulate  his  pas- 
sions instead  of  being  merely  an  animal  embodiment 
of  them.  When  he  is  his  nobler  self,  note  his  kindness 
to  little  children,  his  affection  for  relatives  and  friends, 
his  compassion  for  the  weak  and  erring.  He  may  even 
get  the  whip  hand  over  his  vanity,  not  presume  a 
superiority  in  a  world  like  ours,  where  nobody  is  any- 
body in  particular.  He  may  have  a  power  of  mind  that 
reaches  out  to  thousands  yet  be  without  assumption, 
without  hypocrisy. 

The  average  hero  suffers  nothing  and  really  achieves 
nothing.  All  things  are  thrown  his  way.  He  is  simply 
a  nice-looking,  well-groomed,  tailor-made,  lucky  dog. 
He  opens  a  gold  mine,  falls  heir  to  a  million,  stumbles 
into  the  accumulation  of  some  other  man's  labor  and 
is  decidedly  un-American.  He  is  only  a  fortunate 
weakling,  whose  loftiest  ambition  is  to  make  an  im- 
pression through  physical  appearance — really  great 
men  speak  through  their  souls.  The  screen  hero, 
whether  of  the  drawing-room  or  of  the  plains,  makes 
his  principal  address  through  his  clothes  and  his  shape. 
The  spirit  within  seems  to  be  of  secondary  conse- 
quence. The  screen  hero  is  a  poser,  a  creature  of  the 
mirror,  the  real  one  is  at  his  best  when  most  unmind- 
ful of  effect,  aggressive  and  determined  from  hard 
necessity,  but  in  a  creative  way,  never  to  the  injury 
of  his  fellow-men. 

The  real  hero  is  intensely  human,  despite  his  occa- 


INTELLIGENT  CHARACTERIZATION  101 

sional  exhibitions  of  superior  mental  force.  He*  cdh* 
tains  within  his  complicated  makeup  the  elements  of ' 
all  villainy,  and  he  may  descend  to  the  depth's  in  :his 
varied  moods,  but  the  light  that  shines  within  him  is 
not  of  one-candle  power;  it  is  a  burning  flame,  con- 
suming him  at  times,  at  others  brightening  the  lives 
of  all  within  the  scope  of  his  influence.  His  character 
is  a  fabric  of  many  intense  characters,  and  he  may 
live  one  or  another  of  these  in  his  differing  moods  and 
periods.  He  is  not  a  tame  hero,  one  who  merely  re- 
peats himself  over  and  over  again.  Whatever  his 
criminal  instincts,  they  have  become  intellectualized 
and  may  be  utilized  for  noble  purposes  in  the  end,  but 
their  outbreaks  constitute  one  of  the  strong  fascina- 
tions of  a  dramatic  story.  In  the  high  color  and  con- 
trasts of  his  portrait  lie  the  essence  of  the  drama. 

Sum  up  primitive  man,  and  the  solution  of  primitive 
woman  is  not  far  removed,  but  why  should  the  primi- 
tive be  as  far  as  the  average  story  goes  in  picturing  a 
heroine?  She  is  Eve's  reincarnation,  and  so  little  more 
than  those  who  have  penetrated  the  depths  of  one  hu- 
man character  are  either  amused  or  disgusted  by  the 
portrayal.  We  have  had  a  surfeit  of  her  on  the  screen. 
Is  it  possible  that  men  who  write  and  visualize  such 
stories  have  never  encountered  any  but  females  of 
rudimentary  minds?  They  are  either  lacking  in  com- 
prehension of  human  character,  or  they  have  been 
wandering  so  long  in  the  weeds  that  they  have  ceased 
to  believe  in  the  existence  of  flowers. 

But  the  character  study  that  the  author  has  put  into 
his  photoplay  goes  for  naught  unless  such  character 
work  is  intelligently  depicted  by  the  actors.  Here, 
possibly,  a  study  of  the  actor  versus  type  may  not  be 
amiss. 

Actors  there  are,  possibly  a  half  dozen  all  told,  who 
can  impersonate  almost  any  leading  character  yet  con- 
ceived for  the  screen  story.  Actors  there  are  who  think 


102  SCREENCRAFT 

they  can,  and  their  number  has  not  been  computed, 
not  as  yet.  Besides,  there  are  few  roles  to  be  enacted 
and  many  calling  only  for  a  performer  who  looks  the 
part,  a  "type."  Keeping  in  mind  that  we  are  dealing 
with  an  appeal  to  the  eye  alone,  it  becomes  very  im- 
portant that  true  exemplars  of  the  different  parts  are 
chosen  in  the  cast,  especially  among  those  who  have 
little  more  than  physical  representation  to  attempt. 
The  work  of  mental  revelation  falls  to  the  principals, 
and  only  the  most  capable  authors  and  directors  begin 
to  realize  how  much  of  that  should  be  brought  to  light. 

As  usual,  farce  offers  the  exception.  An  actor  who 
is  naturally  funny  may  be  short,  tall,  broad  or  narrow — 
he  has  only  to  be  himself.  His  limitations  are  his  own, 
not  those  of  the  role,  unless  he  is  woefully  miscast  or 
given  scant  opportunity.  The  higher  we  soar,  the  more 
necessary  it  becomes  to  entrust  a  role  to  an  actor  who 
seems  to  be  its  "characteristic  embodiment." 

It  is  indeed  true  that  when  the  physical  attraction 
is  particularly  suited  to  the  role,  the  characterization 
becomes  effective  without  any  tremendous  amount  of 
mental  exertion — a  most  fortunate  circumstance — on 
the  part  of  the  character's  impersonator. 

Physical  fitness  of  primary  importance,  there  follows 
an  essential  not  easy  to  define,  the  ability  of  an  actor 
to  lay  aside  consciousness  of  his  existing  self  and  take 
on  imaginatively  some  other  identity  than  his  own. 
He  may  call  up  remembrance  of  some  character  like 
that  he  attempts  to  impersonate  and  express  emotion 
as  that  conjured-up  personality  might  under  certain 
circumstances,  but  it  is  when  he  exercises  his  imagi- 
nation in  a  sustained  and  determined  manner,  just  as 
does  the  author  of  a  story,  that  he  can  give  the  appear- 
ance of  actuality  to  a  character  which  is  merely  an 
ideal  creation. 

The  whole  process  is  not  far  removed  from  that  of 
the  one  we  pass  through  in  the  dream  state.  The 


INTELLIGENT  CHARACTERIZATION  103 

habitual  current  of  thought  laid  aside,  the  interpreter 
who  becomes  seriously  engrossed  in  a  portrayal  lives 
alternately  in  two  worlds,  one  in  which  he  is  improvis- 
ing an  existence  wholly  different  from  that  he  or- 
dinarily follows,  the  other  one  to  which  he  is  suddenly 
recalled  when  the  director,  for  one  reason  or  another, 
breaks  the  continuity  of  story  action.  Capable  directors 
make  as  few  such  interruptions  as  possible.  They  jar 
the  keen  sensibilities  of  a  good  performer  and  nullify 
some  of  his  best  work. 

"Put  yourself  in  his  place,"  says  the  capable  director. 
"You  are  impersonating  a  man  who  judges  everything 
through  the  medium  of  a  gloomy  and  morose  temper — 
he  is  looking  out  at  the  sunlit  scene  through  a  smoked 
glass."  Once  in  this  mood,  imbued  with  this  spirit, 
the  actor  unconsciously  plays  his  role  so  that  it  deeply 
affects  the  audience.  His  emotions  and  his  actions 
cease  to  be  forced  in  outward  appearance,  for  they  are 
truly  of  an  involuntary  kind.  Just  so  when  the  char- 
acter is  that  of  a  cheerful  person,  one  who  sees  every- 
thing in  its  brightest  aspect. 

The  moment  an  actor  succeeds  in  applying  both 
common  sense  and  imagination  to  his  impersonation 
he  ceases  to  be  a  "type"  and  becomes  an  interpreter. 
Interpretations  of  the  finest  sort  are  not  only  acts  of 
judgment  based  on  experience,  but  they  are  greatly 
affected  by  dominant  feeling  or  mood.  The  inter- 
preter's attention  must  necessarily  be  fixed  on  this 
mood,  his  mind  so  completely  engrossed  by  it  that  his 
current  of  thought  is  not  changed  by  little  interrup- 
tions at  rehearsals.  He  is  thinking  the  thoughts  of  his 
assumed  character,  not  to  be  diverted  by  his  surround- 
ings, nor  by  his  own  self-consciousness. 

When  the  true  interpreter's  mood  is  distracted  by 
the  intrusion  of  some  inappropriate  idea  or  feeling,  he 
is  compelled  to  make  an  effort  in  order  to  keep  within 
his  role,  and  this  becomes  eventually  visible  on  the 


104  SCREENCRAFT 

screen.  On  this  account — it  is  a  fact  worth  every  di- 
rector's consideration — the  capable  actor  should  be 
given  a  clear  view  of  his  part  in  advance,  together  with 
its  relation  to  the  whole  story,  and  permitted  to  work 
out  his  own  interpretation  within  the  limits  of  action 
imposed  by  camera  scope  and  general  environment. 
His  effort  should  be  volitional. 

Sweet  little  girls  and  handsome  boys  will  always 
have  a  place  in  motion-picture  production,  but  along 
with  the  advent  of  great  stories  written  especially  for 
screen  representation  and  their  intelligent  supervision 
by  capable  directors  will  undoubtedly  come  interpreta- 
tion by  veritable  artists. 


ACTING  THAT  IS  NOT 

OR 
A  DISCUSSION  OF  SCREEN  INTERPRETATION 

"^T^  HE  art  of  the  Theater/'  says  Gordon  Craig,  "is 
neither  acting  nor  the  play,  it  is  not  scene  nor 
dance,  but  it  consists  of  all  the  elements  of 
which  these  things  are  composed."  This  sums  up  an 
entire  book  he  has  written  on  the  subject,  but,  like 
many  another  talented  writer,  he  appears  to  avoid 
saying  definitely  what  acting  is  and  what  it  should  be. 
So  far  as  the  screen  is  concerned,  the  entire  subject  is 
a  rich  field  lying  fallow.  Even  the  keenest  critics  avoid 
scratching  it. 

Grant  in  advance  that  the  absence  of  uttered  speech 
severely  conditions  expression  of  thought  and  feeling 
in  the  photoplay,  it  would  seem  from  the  finest  ex- 
amples of  work  done  by  silent  performers  that  there 
is  being  unconsciously  shaped  a  definite  art  of  minis- 
tering to  the  minds  and  hearts  of  an  audience  through 
silent  portrayal  of  character,  even  in  its  psychological 
depths;  of  motive,  even  in  its  hiding  places;  of  recre- 
ated human  experience,  even  in  its  most  intense  mo- 
ments, and  of  great  moral  passions,  even  those  which 
occasionally  convulse  the  whole  world. 

In  the  screen  drama  it  is  frequently  the  actor,  or  the 
actress  who  is  at  fault  and  who — call  it  vanity,  or  call 
it  overaccentuation  of  his  or  her  personality — defeats 
the  ends  of  screen  art. 

The  author  may  have  had  an  artistic  creation  in 
mind,  such  a  brilliant  insistence  of  the  central  figure 
as  occasionally  causes  the  story  to  stand  forth  as  a 
noteworthy  achievement.  Why  should  the  high-priced 
star  care?  She  is  chiefly  concerned  with  making  an 
impression  of  her  personality,  as  conveyed  by  careful 
manicuring  and  hairdressing,  rather  than  that  of  the 

105 


106  SCREENCRAFT 

play.  Even  when  we  all  love  a  star — sometimes  it  is 
only  the  director — we  feel  that  she  should  deserve  a 
fine  part  by  making  the  best  of  it.  We  best  enjoy  her 
participation  in  the  story  as  one  of  its  natural  and  con- 
sistent factors,  and  our  interest  in  her  begins  to  wane 
when  her  appeal  is  a  smirk  that  speaks  louder  than 
words,  "Don't  you  think  I  am  well  worth  all  the  time 
and  money  spent  on  ME?" 

It  is  not  just  to  the  audience  when  a  really  fine  stage 
performer  slights  the  screen  representation,  depend- 
ing wholly  upon  past  reputation  to  carry  over  a  medi- 
ocre effort,  particularly  when  the  silent  picturing  ot 
thought  and  emotion,  calls  for  all  the  intelligent  ap- 
plication of  her  art  that  an  accomplished  actress  can 
give.  Great  stars  are  known  to  accept  the  money  for 
good  service  and  give  it  so  grudgingly,  even  disdain- 
fully, that  their  movements  and  gestures  become  as 
automatic  as  they  might  be  in  eating  soup  while  read- 
ing the  paper. 

Many  patrons  who  would  go  regularly  to  the  pic- 
ture shows,  just  as  regularly  as  they  read  their  daily 
papers,  are  drifting  away  to  other  forms  of  enter- 
tainment during  intervals,  though  they  return  again, 
ever  hopeful,  always  serene  in  the  faith  that  the  best 
is  yet  to  come,  and  unfavorable  comments  made  are 
nearly  all  of  the  same  kind.  Such  and  such  an  artist 
merely  walked  through  her  part  and  spoiled  the  story. 

Let  us  illustrate  what  an  actor  may  do  and  may  not 
do  in  a  little  imaginative  illusion  of  our  own.  The 
play  opens  with  a  severe  and  orderly  room,  a  well 
arranged  library,  in  which  books  and  writing  materials 
indicate  that  the  owner  is  a  man  of  high  standing  and 
a  student  of  law.  In  the  foreground  at  one  side,  that 
it  may  be  prominent  without  intruding  on  the  action, 
is  a  figure  of  Justice.  Presently  Judge  R.  enters  and 
hands  his  things  to  a  servant  who  follows.  Servant 
gives  Judge  an  important-looking  envelope  and  retires. 


ACTING  THAT  IS  NOT  107 

Judge  R.  is  not  in  a  state  of  fatigue,  but  he  exhibits 
relief  on  sitting  down.  He  is  a  fine  type,  thoughtful, 
impartial,  high-minded. 

He  turns  calmly  to  the  envelope,  glances  at  the  su- 
perscription, and  opens  it  with  calm  deliberation.  Its 
contents  prove  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  he 
has  been  guilty  of  a  decision  which  wronged  another 
man  and  wrecked  the  unfortunate  victim's  life.  An  ex- 
hibit of  the  document  reveals  to  the  spectator  that  a 
faulty  decision  has  involved  the  happiness  of  the  vic- 
tim's family.  What  does  the  Judge  do? 

What  WOULD  such  a  Judge  do?  Would  not  such 
a  revelation  come  to  one  of  his  usually  accurate  judg- 
ment in  the  nature  of  a  shock?  His  whole  theory  of 
himself  is  upset.  He  who  has  spent  his  best  years  in 
righting  wrongs  has  committed  a  grievous  one.  It  is 
scarcely  to  be  credited !  A  second  examination  of  the 
document  brings  out  with  terrible  force  that  it  is  a 
pure  expression  of  the  truth.  He  falls  into  a  reverie, 
during  which  the  existing  scene  dissolves  to  that  of  the 
wrong  and  back  again.  Now  his  eyes  open  wide  with 
horror  in  the  first  torment  of  conscience. 

A  period  of  time  can  be  covered  with  a  glimpse  of 
other  action,  a  line  leading  up  to  the  main  one,  and 
return  is  made  to  the  Judge.  It  is  thus  shown  that  he 
is  a  man  to  think  long  and  hard  on  a  subject.  He  has 
a  habit  of  mentally  reviewing  all  the  testimony  before 
reaching  a  mature  decision.  He  first  exhibits  emotion, 
then  his  mind  begins  to  reach  out  for  a  solution  of  his 
difficulties.  He  is  not  a  man  TO  JUMP  AT  CONCLU- 
SIONS. We  feel  that  something  larger  is  coming  than 
a  plan  merely  conceived  on  the  impulse  of  a  moment. 
Higher  suspense  is  aroused  by  thus  forecasting  events 
of  large  importance. 

Is  not  this  adequate  interpretation  of  character,  at 
once  a  revelation  and  a  prophecy,  a  finer  quality  of  act- 
ing than  the  more  or  less  automatic  movements  and 


108  SCREENCRAFT 

gestures  ordinarily  employed?  The  Judge  develops  a 
plan  of  clandestine  relief  for  his  victim's  family,  and 
this  is  gradually  unfolded  in  what  he  does.  What  he 
does  is  of  interest,  but  it  does  not  afford  the  relief  ex- 
pected. He  cannot  shake  off  the  phantom  of  wrong, 
because  he  is  persisting  in  his  methods  toward  others. 

He  must  be  made  to  FEEL  deeply,  and  the  mental 
process  by  which  he  reaches  a  complete  conversion  of 
character  cannot  be  consistently  hidden.  How  does  he 
bring  about  a  reconciliation  of  his  daily  acts  and  the 
new  ideals  which  are  preying  on  his  mind?  Why  se- 
crete the  forces  now  at  work  making  a  complete  change 
in  the  man  and  their  effects  upon  him?  Quite  as  well  as 
studied  facial  expression,  gesture  and  movement,  we 
enjoy  the  unconscious  revelation  of  soul  which  comes 
to  us  of  itself  when  the  performer  lives  the  role  he  is 
enacting.  Is  not  fine  acting  on  stage  or  screen  largely 
a  question  of  psychology? 

Screen  drama,  like  all  other  arts,  is  indeed  an  exact- 
ing mistress,  not  only  from  the  point  of  view  of  the 
actor,  but  also  from  that  of  the  director,  the  producer, 
and  the  writer.  Being  essentially  modern,  essentially 
picturesque,  and  essentially  direct  in  the  effects  it  de- 
mands and  creates,  it  must  keep  the  closest  possible 
watch  on  everything,  be  it  science,  art,  religion  or  plain 
fad,  which  happens  to  interest  the  paying  majority. 
And  this  paying  majority  demands  more  and  more  the 
truth — in  all  things. 

Truth  is  bound  to  win  popularity  for  educational  re- 
leases. It  is  bound  to  win  that  kind  of  support  which 
brings  the  New  Art  constantly  increasing  respect, 
hence  the  author  of  an  educational  release  has  a  re- 
sponsibility which  should  make  him  extremely  careful 
in  distinguishing  between  right  and  wrong  in  the  pres- 
entation. He  is  morally  accountable  to  those  whose 
confidence  in  screen  portrayals  is  most  to  be  desired. 

We  all  feel  that  we  participate  in  what  science  has 


ACTING  THAT  IS  NOT  109 

accomplished  during  the  past  fifty  years,  but  we  are 
not  entirely  conscious  of  what  science  has  NOT  ac- 
complished, that  its  logic  has  not  succeeded  in  weeding 
out  delusion  and  superstition  from  the  human  mind. 
This  may  be  done  through  moving  pictures.  A  big 
hope  lies  hidden  there.  It  will  not  do  for  those  of  us 
now  in  authority,  from  author  to  producer,  to  consider 
ourselves  more  important  than  the  art  we  are  using. 
The  author  in  particular  should  rise  to  his  opportunity. 
He  should  not  only  familiarize  himself  with  all  facts 
bearing  on  his  subject,  but  he  should  seriously  attempt 
their  right  interpretation. 

"The  vital  knowledge,"  says  Herbert  Spencer,  "that 
by  which  we  have  grown  as  a  nation  to  what  we  are, 
and  which  underlies  our  whole  existence,  is  a  knowl- 
edge that  has  got  itself  taught  in  nooks  and  corners, 
not  the  mumbling  of  dead  formulas."  There  is  the  cue 
for  the  author  who  would  become  an  educationalist. 
An  author  must  have  brains  in  order  to  teach  aspiring 
millions  to  observe,  to  use  keen  logic  and  to  attain 
fine  judgment.   If  he  has  not,  he  will  only  be  like  the 
gentleman  mentioned  by  Shakespeare. 
"Man,  proud  man! 
Dress'd  in  a  little  brief  authority 
Most  ignorant  of  what  he  is  most  assured." 

The  screen  is  not  for  the  perpetuation  of  false  the- 
ories, of  fanatical  theories,  or  of  ordinary  shams.  Its 
language  must  be  that  of  truth,  of  logic,  of  sound 
sense. 

The  educational  value  of  the  screen  play  is  great, 
and  will  steadily  increase. 

When  we  enter  upon  the  navigation  of  dangerous 
waters,  we  naturally  trust  to  pilot  and  captain  qualified 
by  long  training  and  familiar  with  their  duties  rather 
than  attempt  to  point  out  channel  intricacies  ourselves. 
On  the  same  general  principle,  as  a  matter  of  good 
common  sense,  we  should  consult  the  greatest  scien- 


110  SCREENCRAFT 

tific  authorities  of  our  period,  just  as  the  President  of 
the  United  States  has  recently  done,  before  seriously 
embarking  on  an  enterprise  deeply  concerning  our  na- 
tional life,  our  national  safety,  our  national  character. 
It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  we  discriminate  between 
what  is  true  and  what  is  false  in  any  projected  educa- 
tional system. 


PICTURE  COMPOSITION 

THE  impressionist  who  paints  may  attempt  to  con- 
vey sensation  by  conflicting  lights  and  colors 
irrespective  of  theme.  He  may  only  be  in  revolt 
against  accepted  principles.  Whatever  his  motive,  and 
he  may  be  both  capable  and  sincere,  it  will  not  do  to 
attempt  impressionism  in  moving  pictures  until  it  is 
better  defined  among  the  painters. 

Offhand  impressions,  whether  of  nature  or  of  so- 
ciety, are  apt  to  be  superficial.  They  may  easily  be 
misleading  when  a  scene  is  glimpsed  without  study  of 
its  elements,  when  a  group  of  people  is  characterized 
without  examination  of  its  individual  members.  The 
dreary  plain  may  be  as  true  to  nature  as  the  forest  and 
stream,  as  the  bold  shore  and  breaking  waves,  yet  one 
may  repel  and  the  other  attract.  There  is  an  exacting 
sense  of  beauty  within  us,  one  so  common  as  to  be  in 
evidence  among  all  classes  of  people. 

As  we  are  compelled  to  closely  study  the  real  to 
make  the  romantic  plausible,  so  a  purely  technical  ex- 
amination of  prosaic  details  in  a  scene  to  be  pictured 
may  well  result  in  a  general  effect  highly  inspirational. 
The  word  "technical"  need  cause  no  alarm,  nor  should 
it  be  confused  with  the  merely  stilted.  The  idea  is  to 
acquire  a  certain  amount  of  skill  in  applying  esthetic 
judgment  and  taste  to  picture  composition. 

A  lack  of  "picture  eye"  is  most  noticeable  in  news 
periodicals  exhibited  on  the  screen.  .The  cameraman 
not  only  leaves  it  almost  entirely  to  chance  where  his 
point  of  view  shall  be  taken,  but  his  selection  of  ma- 
terial usually  shows  lack  of  judgment.  He  dwells  on 
the  unimportant  and  the  uninteresting,  while  the  vital 
is  merely  glimpsed  or  left  out  entirely.  About  the 
only  time  he  portrays  the  amusing  is  when  he  attempts 
the  tragic. 

Ill 


112  SCREENCRAFT 

A  notable  example  was  first  announced  on  the  screen 
as  "Aweful  Fire  in  Saint  Louis."  Over  two  thousand 
people  in  the  audience  watched  a  lot  of  smoke  tinted 
red,  while  expectation  ran  high  of  witnessing  some 
exciting  rescues.  What  did  the  cameraman  find  "awe- 
ful"  about  the  conflagration?  Ah!  The  smoke  parted 
and  the  walls  of  a  building  were  seen.  On  them,  set 
forth  in  bold  print,  was  a  sign  whose  only  visible  part 
was  the  word  "BREWERY."  Two  thousand  people 
roared,  though  the  fire  may  have  seemed  a  tragedy  to 
the  cameraman. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  very  men  who  regard 
the  burning  of  a  brewery  as  an  "Aweful  Fire"  almost 
invariably  point  the  camera  down  at  the  water  when 
photographing  scenery  from  a  boat  moving  along 
some  picturesque  river  or  lake.  This  sacrifice  of  land 
and  sky  to  an  element  which  the  cameraman  may 
concede  to  be  useful  for  bathing  purposes  might  be 
classified  as  a  "waterscape,"  but  his  pictures  have  the 
appearance  of  having  been  trimmed  too  much  on  the 
top  for  nice  balance. 

If  emphasis  is  to  be  placed  on  a  character  in  the 
foreground  of  an  exterior  where  a  spreading  scene  is 
shown,  a  man  in  the  close-up  watching  remote  action, 
such  as  a  conflict,  place  him  a  little  to  the  right  of  the 
center,  his  immediate  environment  to  the  right  of  the 
picture,  if  the  effect  of  that  conflict  on  him  is  of  first 
importance,  while  it  is  glimpsed  to  the  left  in  the  re- 
mote distance.  There  are  virtually  two  lines  of  action 
demanding  attention,  and  there  is  involved  a  question 
of  centering  interest  on  the  more  important  of  the  two. 
The  near  figure  is  intensified  by  isolation,  the  idea  of 
the  close-up,  yet  the  eye  may  take  in  action  profoundly 
affecting  that  figure,  action  set  aside  in  a  field  of  its 
own  that  it  may  not  distract. 

Millions  of  people  have  approached  New  York  City 
from  nearly  all  points  of  the  compass  by  water,  and 


H 

CO 


H 


CO 

O 


W 

ffi 
O 


O 


PICTURE  COMPOSITION  113 

millions  have  noticed  wondrous  effects  of  light  and 
shade,  especially  among  tall  buildings  grouped  at  the 
Battery,  which  seem  to  escape  all  photographers  of 
motion.  One  cameraman  did  fairly  well  after  several 
trials  from  four  viewpoints  on  a  Staten  Island  ferry- 
boat coming  up  the  bay.  The  first  two  were  taken 
from  the  upper  deck,  the  others  from  the  main  deck, 
all  in  slanting  sunlight. 

The  first  was  of  wide  horizon,  embracing  even  the 
badly-placed  Statue  of  Liberty.  The  second  and 
nearer  one,  like  the  first,  exactly  centered  the  Battery 
group  and  fastened  attention  upon  it  because  no  ves- 
sels of  importance  intervened.  The  third  centered  on  a 
building  made  prominent  by  some  deep  shadows  back 
of  it,  giving  no  view  of  the  water  to  distract  attention 
and  preserving  an  ample  sky.  The  last  shot  up 
from  close  in  shore,  still  preserving  the  sky  line  and 
accentuating  the  great  height  of  towering  structures. 

The  passing  of  a  white  Sound  steamer  would  have 
distracted  attention  in  any  one  of  these.  It  would  have 
loomed  into  prominence,  and  the  eye  is  often  so  at- 
tracted by  light  objects  in  the  foreground  as  to  give  in- 
adequate consideration  to  more  important  objects  in  a 
darker  background.  Such  was  the  case  in  picturing  a 
duel  between  principals  through  a  break  in  a  hedge  near 
which  some  recumbent  vagrants  became  involuntary 
witnesses  of  the  affair.  The  scene  was  taken  from  the 
west  side  of  the  hedge  in  the  afternoon  and  embraced 
both  witnesses  and  principals.  The  sun  shone  on 
them  all  and  lighted  up  visible  portions  of  the  hedge 
on  either  side  of  the  picture,  giving  distracting  prom- 
inence to  it  and  to  the  unimportant  vagrants. 

A  striking  effect  could  have  been  obtained  in  the 
morning.  Those  secretly  watching  the  combat  would 
have  been  in  the  dark  shadow  of  the  hedge,  and  the 
latter  would  have  formed  two  sides  of  a  heavy  frame 
for  vital  action,  in  the  background  now  thrown  by 


114  SCREENCRAFT 

contrast  into  bold  relief.  Attention  doubly  attracted 
by  the  center  and  by  the  high  lights  would  have  been 
concentrated  upon  the  main  action,  while  entirely  con- 
scious of  subordinate  details  in  the  foreground.  Com- 
position in  this  case  consists  of  wise  distribution  of 
forces  at  work,  sacrifice  of  essentials  having  minor 
importance,  and  emphasis  of  important  action  in  a 
light  background  by  contrast  with  a  dark  'foreground. 

Actual  screen  portrayals  have  been  thus  far  used 
to  show  that  the  object  of  highest  value  in  a  picture 
should  be  given  emphasis  even  to  the  point  of  sacrific- 
ing others  of  lower  value,  but  there  are  cases  where  the 
principal  object  cannot  be  perfectly  centered,  as  in  a 
large  ensemble,  and,  at  the  same  time,  be  free  from 
distracting  influences.  It  is  better  to  give  up  centering 
in  any  such  case  and  isolate  the  important  unit,  even 
at  the  extreme  edge  of  the  picture,  and  depend  upon 
this  isolation  and  contrast,  remembering  that  if  the 
figure  is  light  it  is  intensified  in  proportion  to  the 
amount  of  dark  background  against  which  it  is  shown. 

The  application  of  elementary  principles  to  the  ar- 
rangement of  groups  and  lighting  of  scenes  does  not 
mean  that  they  constitute  a  set  of  hard-and-fast  rules 
for  use  in  all  sorts  of  cases,  but  that  they  may  prove 
helpful  to  those  who  desire  to  convey  some  of  the 
delight  they  feel  when  they  chance  upon  some  beauti- 
ful effect  in  one  of  nature's  own  pictures  accidentally 
composed. 


H 
E 
O 


a 


H 


w 


o 

5 


ILLUSTRATIONS  ANALYZED 

"The  Christian." — Unity  is  nicely  preserved  in  this 
example,  though  there  are  figures  in  semi-obscurity. 
They  add  to  mystery  and  suggestion.  By  placing  the 
important  group,  three  men  and  one  woman,  under 
intense  light,  there  is  nothing  in  the  background  to 
distract  from  their  revelation.  Attention  is  almost 
entirely  focused  on  their  condition  of  mind  as  shown 
by  attitude,  facial  expression  and  implied  action. 
Through  admirable  group  arrangement,  and  through 
intense  effects  of  light  and  shade,  their  message  is 
made  known,  even  in  the  still  picture. 

"Pharaoh's  Daughter  and  Moses." — This  group  is 
very  much  in  accord  with  the  ideas  of  Repin,  greatest 
of  Russian  painters,  and  in  a  way  with  those  of  Claude 
Lorraine.  The  contrast  results  almost  entirely  from 
skill  in  grouping,  irrespective  of  light  and  shade.  The 
Barbarian  forces  are  so  arranged  that  the  proud  and 
indulgent  attitude  of  the  men  is  opposed  to  the  ma- 
ternal ecstasy  of  the  kneeling  women.  The  latter  have 
their  hearts  in  their  faces,  and  the  attention  of  all 
but  one  is  concentrated  upon  the  infant  Moses.  In 
bold  relief,  and  therefore  calculated  to  fix  the  attention 
of  the  spectator,  is  one  figure  in  the  foreground.  Her 
emotional  condition  is  a  thing  apart  from  that  else- 
where exhibited,  and  this  psychological  contrast  alone 
causes  her  to  dominate  the  entire  picture. 

"Richelieu." — Not  only  is  the  group  so  nicely  bal- 
anced as  to  give  each  of  the  subordinate  characters 
individual  significance  without  sacrifice  of  the  im- 
portant central  figure,  but  there  is  an  exquisite  and 
carefully-studied  balance  of  light  leading  from  the 
brightly  illuminated  floor  in  one  corner  to  the  dark 
vaulted  roof  in  the  upper  opposed  corner.  A  line 
drawn  between  the  corners  either  way  will  make  ap- 

115 


116  SCREENCRAFT 

parent  how  the  positive  exterior  light  is  made  to  gradu- 
ally pass  into  the  natural  shadow  of  an  interior.  The 
effect  upon  Richelieu's  face,  as  well  as  on  the  faces 
of  other  characters,  is  that  of  a  Rembrandt  half-light 
so  often  used  in  portraiture.  The  leading  character, 
although  a  little  to  the  right  of  the  center,  is  strongly 
placed  in  opposition  to  the  kneeling  woman  at  his 
feet.  He  dominates  without  sacrifice  of  the  others,  as 
may  be  seen  in  the  suggested  action  of  their  attitudes, 
and  the  entire  group  is  enveloped  in  the  necessary 
atmosphere  by  a  consistent  and  artistic  setting. 

"Twelfth  Night."— Characters  are  placed  in  the 
midst  of  a  broad  middle  tone,  with  accents  of  light 
above  and  heavy  darkness  below  in  almost  perfect 
proportion.  This  is  in  accord  with  the  principles  of 
Titian  and  Paul  Veronese.  Their  principles  allow 
about  one-quarter  of  the  entire  space  for  strong  light, 
about  one-half  for  the  middle  light,  and  fully  one- 
quarter  as  dark  as  possible.  This  arrangement  gives 
distinctness  to  the  group  which  it  might  not  otherwise 
enjoy.  The  subordinate  figures  are  admirably  placed 
in  mild  sacrifice  to  those  of  higher  importance  in  front. 
Note  the  delicate  balance  between  the  corner  of  ex- 
treme light  and  that  of  extreme  darkness.  The  intro- 
duction of  a  heavy  column  to  the  left  seems  to  be  an 
intrusion  until  it  is  eliminated  by  covering;  then  it  is 
seen  that  it  gives  classic  dignity  to  the  entire  composi- 
tion, a  master-stroke. 

"Peggy." — The  background,  with  its  dangerous  tran- 
sitional line  and  its  demi-dark  in  the  middle  space, 
would  be  dull  indeed  but  for  the  exquisite  effect  of  a 
sidelight  striking  across  the  scene,  illuminating  the 
toadstool  on  which  the  dark  figure  stands,  delicately 
touching  the  grass  at  its  base  and  intensifying  the 
central  and  important  figure  so  that  the  whole  compo- 
sition is  one  of  beauty  and  power,  making  it  one  of 
those  rare  exteriors  which  are  veritable  pictures. 


o 
o 

w 

0, 


ILLUSTRATIONS  ANALYZED  117 

Quietude,  mystery  and  great  dignity  of  background  are 
achieved  without  formal  balance.  A  striking  effect, 
one  that  instantly  impresses  the  eye  and  the  mind  of  a 
beholder,  is  brought  about  by  skillful  opposition  of  the 
two  figures  and  by  strong  effects  of  light  and  shade 
that  carry  the  eye  into  the  deep  ground  and  back 
again  to  the  figures  with  a  growing  sense  of  satis- 
faction. 

"Mice  and  Men/' — A  remarkable  exterior  in  many 
respects  and  especially  so  to  those  familiar  with  the 
difficulties  of  getting  anything  like  correct  picture  com- 
position during  the  rush  and  strain  of  production.  At 
a  glance  one  would  say  that  such  lighting  and  shadow 
must  be  of  a  studio  interior.  The  intense  light  on  the 
faces  of  subordinate  characters  to  the  right  does  not 
emphasize  them  to  their  disadvantage,  and  the  back- 
light, most  ingeniously  illuminating  the  figure  at  the 
left,  while  softening  and  sweetening  the  face,  are  studio 
effects,  but  one  has  only  to  peer  into  the  background 
to  perceive  that  it  is  all  a  question  of  "placing  the  sun." 
A  picture  like  this,  containing  the  greatest  amount  of 
beauty  of  which  the  subject  is  capable,  has  a  very 
strong  appeal  to  all  classes  of  people,  from  those  who 
love  beauty  from  instinct  to  those  who  know  the 
reason  why. 

"The  White  Pearl."— This  expression  of  character 
through  harmonious  detail  illustrates  the  necessity  of 
emphasis  through  lack  of  it.  Entirely  appropriate, 
nicely  centered  and  admirably  proportioned,  the  gen- 
eral effect  is  agreeable,  but  the  eye  is  distracted  from 
the  face  of  the  character  in  the  foreground,  the  im- 
portant factor,  by  the  emphasized  white  idol  in  the 
background.  Attention  is  scattered  by  an  unimportant 
detail  when  it  should  be  concentrated  on  the  very  sweet 
and  attractive  figure  with  which  the  story  is  concerned. 
This  loss  is  due  to  a  habit  directors  have  of  taking 
exteriors  during  the  middle  of  the  day,  when  deep 


118  SCREENCRAFT 

shadows  are  not  so  easily  found.  In  a  better  light  the 
picture  would  have  breathed  the  spirit  of  springtime 
joy  and  pleased  the  more  because  of  its  delightful 
arrangement. 


PICTURE  INSPIRATION 

IT  IS  possible  to  intensify  the  main  line  of  action  in 
a  big  screen  story  through  effects  rarely  suggested 

by  authors  because  not  demanded  by  that  action,  yet 
it  is  their  duty,  not  that  of  directors,  to  provide  and 
appropriately  place  such  effects  in  the  story  structure. 
We  are  just  now  enjoying  some  screen  representations 
of  very  beautiful  sunsets  to  the  detriment  of  other 
matter  and  some  equally  beautiful  dawns  where  there 
is  no  particular  reason  for  them  to  appear.  Vivid 
lightning  and  torrents  of  rain  are  shown  where  there 
are  no  "dark  deeds  or  strange,"  and  lovely  formal 
gardens,  of  themselves  a  delight  to  the  eye,  are  thrust 
upon  attention  to  the  complete  distraction  of  interest 
in  the  play  and  its  characters. 

If  an  author  feels  that  his  inventive  resources  would 
not  stand  the  strain  of  devising  a  new  effect,  the  older 
arts  may  lend  a  small  fraction  of  what  has  accumulated 
during  the  past  twenty  centuries.  An  empty  stage 
may  be  shown  when  the  curtain  rises  with  a  view  to 
causing  a  hush  of  expectation  in  the  audience.  Then 
the  scope  may  be  enlarged  and  a  scene  revealed  which 
suggests  the  story's  mood.  Or  a  symbol  may  be  ex- 
hibited, or  some  mechanical  accessory  on  which  events 
depend.  A  little  glamour,  a  suggestion  of  mystery,  a 
stretch  of  fair  country,  some  keynote  to  the  composi- 
tion, may  start  the  imagination  of  an  audience  before 
the  play  begins. 

There  is  a  sad  note  at  the  beginning.  A  fond  girl 
is  parting  from  the  man  she  loves.  She  will  linger 
after  he  has  gone,  her  heart  aching  as  she  contemplates 
the  scene,  for  a  shadow  has  fallen  on  her  most  cherished 
hopes  and  plans.  The  slanting  sunlight  is  painting 
dark  shadows  on  the  hills,  shadows  that  deepen  until 
the  whole  world  seems  dark.  A  day  comes  when  she 

119 


120  SCREENCRAFT 

receives  notice  that  the  absent  one  is  to  return.  She 
rises  and  opens  a  window.  She  looks  out  on  a  scene  so 
bathed  in  early  sunshine  that  every  flowering  plant  is 
tipped  with  gold — the  whole  world  is  radiant. 

The  story  opens  with  a  view  of  flowers.  While  at- 
tention is  confined  to  a  study  of  their  beauty  there  is 
no  other  movement  than  theirs.  When  attention  has 
given  place  to  curiosity  a  butterfly  is  seen,  drifting 
this  way  and  that,  impelled  by  every  vagrant  breeze. 
It  vanishes  and  a  light-hearted  girl  appears.  She  stops 
here  and  there,  impelled  by  every  shifting  caprice  in 
her  nature.  She  dances  off  scene,  and  no  other  char- 
acterization is  needed.  We  know  what  to  expect  of 
her  in  the  events  that  follow. 

Ah!  Here  is  a  close-up  of  a  splendid  spider  on  his 
intricate  and  well-constructed  web!  Carnivorous  and 
highly  predatory,  he  can  afford  to  wait  in  his  Wall 
Street  office  until  the  foolish  come  along  and  speculate 
on  a  margin.  He  does  not  have  to  hunt  his  victims — 
they  hunt  him.  The  spider  fades  out  as  one  of  the 
characters  seated  at  his  desk  fades  in,  and  we  need  no 
other  introduction. 

It  is  through  symbols  that  this  new  art  often 
gathers  its  strength.  It  may  appeal  to  intelligence 
through  its  representations  of  thought  and  reach  that 
intelligence  the  more  directly  through  an  excited  imag- 
ination, through  arousing  the  sympathies,  through  the 
magic  of  suggestion.  To  stir  soul  appreciation  one 
must  have  soul  appreciation  and  ingenuity  enough  to 
contrive  means  of  communicating  such  appreciation 
to  others. 

The  story  is  of  a  man  who  conceives  the  idea  of 
curing  all  the  ills  of  the  world  through  laughter.  The 
ordinary  method  is  to  explain  his  plans  by  means  of 
screen  imprint,  but  there  is  a  method  quite  as  effective 
without  words,  and  therefore  more  in  accord  with  story 
visualization.  By  double  exposure  the  Spirit  of  Joy 


PICTURE  INSPIRATION  121 

visits  him,  perhaps  a  pretty  little  girl  who  laughs  be- 
cause she  cannot  help  it.  He  feels  brightened  by  her 
spiritual  presence,  but  his  nature  is  sunny,  and  he 
ascribes  his  sense  of  pleasure  to  what  is  within  him. 

Now  the  little  Spirit  of  Joy  leads  him  away  by  invisi- 
ble influences  to  where  a  group  of  discharged  work- 
men are  growing  bitter  over  a  strike  that  has  failed. 
The  Superintendent  makes  overtures,  but  they  glower 
at  him  with  suspicion  and  hatred.  The  Spirit  of  Joy 
leaves  the  main  figure  of  the  story  and  draws  near 
the  Superintendent.  He  is  worried  over  the  situation, 
but  the  near  presence  of  Little  Joy,  though  she  cannot 
be  seen,  has  an  effect  on  him.  He  bows  his  head  in 
amused  reminiscence,  then  he  raises  it  and  tells  a  funny 
story.  One  by  one  the  angry  faces  around  him  soften ; 
there  is  a  snicker  here,  a  giggle  there,  and  then  a  burst 
of  laughter.  The  day  is  won. 

Through  other,  similar  adventures  the  Spirit  of  Joy 
is  seen  leading  the  one  who  is  to  be  an  exponent  of 
cheer  and  encouragement.  He  sees  that  people  take 
their  small  woes  too  seriously,  only  forgetting  them 
when  some  greater  sorrow  puts  in  an  appearance. 
While  the  Spirit  of  Joy  is  gradually  taking  possession 
of  his  mind  there  is  inspiration  in  the  scenes  which  form 
no  part  of  the  main  action.  It  is  seen  that  poverty  is  the 
arch-enemy  of  man,  depriving  him  of  opportunity, 
souring  his  disposition,  impelling  him  to  be  guided  by 
those  primitive  impulses  which  lead  to  demoralization 
and  crime. 

Not  only  is  there  a  distinct  purpose  enforced  by 
effects  not  demanded  by  the  main  line  of  action,  but 
that  purpose  is  in  harmony  with  the  main  one  and  well- 
calculated  to  strengthen  it,  and  by  such  methods  effects 
can  be  produced  which  might  be  resented  if  less 
subtle — no  audience  wants  a  preachment,  but  any 
audience  will  stand  for  what  it  is  permitted  to  interpret 
on  its  own  sweet  account. 


122  SCREENCRAFT 

The  story  is  that  of  a  husband  whose  heart  is  bound 
up  in  a  wife  who  has  enriched  and  beautified  his  other- 
wise dull  existence.  Suddenly  this  better  half  of  him, 
this  very  essence  of  his  being,  is  swept  away  into  the 
unknown.  He  is  completely  prostrated  by  the  blow. 
All  his  hopes  of  the  future  are  blighted.  He  wanders 
about  his  home,  only  to  burst  into  tears  at  the  sight 
of  what  he  and  his  loved  one  had  built  together.  He 
yields  to  despair  and  starts  on  some  form  of  self-in- 
dulgence which  would  have  formerly  been  repugnant 
to  him.  In  the  midst  of  his  debasement  he  takes  out 
his  watch  and  sees  her  picture  pasted  there — her  eyes 
seem  to  be  filled  with  tender  reproach. 

By  a  form  of  suggestion,  one  leading  from  the  face 
in  the  watch,  he  can  feel  her  near  presence — it  can  be 
shown  as  a  spiritual  one.  He  is  led  to  a  window  and 
given  a  view  of  some  pitiful  creature  whose  misery  he 
could  relieve,  or  he  is  brought  into  new  relation  with 
the  life  all  about  him,  which  he  could  not  see  in  the 
midst  of  his  selfish  happiness.  Through  suffering  his 
whole  soul  is  refined  until  he  glimpses  some  great 
divine  purpose  in  which  he  must  play  his  little  part 
courageously  to  the  end.  It  is  from  these  neglected 
spiritual  influences  that  the  audience  draws  its  finest 
inspiration. 


A  WORKING  SCENARIO 

For  purposes  of  illustration  only  the  body  of  the  story  is 
here  given,  the  enumeration  of  characters  and  costumes  being 
omitted: 


President  Shallenberger  of  the  Arrow  Film 
Corporation,  producer  of  the  "Who's  Guilty?" 
series,  writes  to  Mr.  Harrison : 

"The  scenario  'Beyond  Recall'  is  a  model  of 
construction,  thorough  and  complete  in  every  de- 
tail, and  it  tells  a  story  of  great  power.  I  fully 
realized  that  when  I  saw  it  on  the  screen,  and  I 
have  confirmation  in  its  MAKING  A  RECORD 
as  one  of  the  finest  two-reelers  ever  released.  We 
cannot  get  too  many  of  this  kind,  so  when  you 
have  any  plots  anywhere  equal  to  this  let  us  have 
them." 


BEYOND  RECALL 

Two  Reel  Scenario 

By  Louis  Reeves  Harrison 

Produced  by  the  Arrow  Film  Corporation  for  the  Pathe 
"Who's  Guilty?"  Series 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

Edwin  Martel  (lead),  about  28.  In  hard  luck  financially; 
honest,  well-intentioned  and  eager  to  get  on,  but  tempo- 
rarily discouraged. 

John  Leonard,  his  friend,  30.  Prosperous,  independent  in 
thought  and  habit,  and  of  generous,  helpful  nature. 

District  Attorney,  35.     Energetic  and  ambitious. 

Margaret  (lead),  25.  Ambitious  to  show  what  a  woman  can 
do  in  public  life.  Somewhat  capricious  but  of  high  prin- 
ciples. Capable  of  strong  emotion,  but  ordinarily  cool  and 
self-possessed. 

123 


124  SCREENCRAFT 

Elsie,  24.    Emotional,  oversensitive,  mercurial  type;  given  to 
extremes  of  thought  and  action,  and  to  sudden  impulse. 
Mrs.  Wiggs,  50.    Character. 
Policeman  O'Brien. 
New  Year's  Eve  Revelers. 
Judge,  jury  and  court  attendants. 
Prison  attendants. 
Newsboy. 
Taxicab  driver. 
Servants. 
Waiters. 
Crowds. 

SCENE  I. 

Screen  Imprint. 

New  Year's  Eve. 

SCENE  2. 
Screen  Imprint. 

From  a  poor  man's  chance,  a  woman's  caprice  and  a  lawyer's 

conscience  the  devil  makes  his  favorite  salad. 
Note: — Make  this  in  bright  letters  which  appear  one  by  one. 

SCENE  3. 

RECEPTION  ROOM,  that  of  Margaret.  Servant  ushers 
in  Leonard  and  Martel,  the  former  prosperous  and  in  trav- 
eling suit,  the  latter  in  plain  business  suit  not  recently 
pressed.  He  is  ill  at  ease  and  shows  dependence  on  Leon- 
ard. The  two  men  are  slightly  separated  when  Margaret  en- 
ters and  greets  Leonard  with  gracious  courtesy.  She  barely 
nods  to  Martel,  and  this  slight  is  so  significant  that  he  turns 
away  nervously  to  look  at  the  pictures  or  mural  decorations, 
while  Leonard  scowls  slightly  and  indicates  Martel  as  if  he 
deserved  more  consideration.  Margaret  shows  by  her  atti- 
tude that  the  presence  of  Martel  is  distasteful  to  her.  She 
may  even  resent  it  and  plainly  indicate  that  he  is  de  trop. 
Leonard  sighs  as  if  he  is  accustomed  to  the  whims  of  a  ca- 
pricious young  lady  and  goes  to  Martel.  He  says  privately 
to  Martel,  "wait  for  me  outside.  I  have  something  private 
to  say."  Martel  is  entirely  willing — he  seems  glad  to  get 
away.  He  motions  rather  awkwardly  that  he  will  wait  be- 
fore the  door,  bows  to  Margaret  and  exits.  Leonard  turns 
to  Margaret  and  says, 
CUT  to  Scene  4 


A  WORKING  SCENARIO  125 

SCENE  4. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"You  have  changed  your  opinion  of  Mattel  because  he  is 
poor,  but  I  may  take  him  with  me  to  South  America  to- 
morrow. I  find  that  I  shall  have  to  be  absent  for  sev- 
eral months  out  of  touch  with  civilization." 

SCENE  5. 

RECEPTION  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  3,  Leonard  ad- 
dressing Margaret.  She  is  only  slightly  surprised,  her  mind 
being  occupied  with  what  she  has  to  say  to  him.  He  is  not 
particularly  pleased  over  having  to  respond  to  her  whim 
about  Martel — he  sees  that  she  is  capricious  and  he  assumes 
an  air  of  dignity.  It  may  be  said  that  all  this  does  not  get 
over,  but  it  is  the  most  fascinating  part  of  a  screen  story. 
He  is  hurt  that  she  shows  so  little  interest  and  is  inclined  to 
reproach  her,  but  she  tosses  her  head  with  an  air  of  inde- 
pendence. She  has  plans  of  her  own.  He  gazes  at  her 
sternly  while  she  explains  them.  With  a  great  deal  of  pride 
she  says, 
CUT  to  Scene  6 

SCENE  6. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"The  District  Attorney  appreciates  my  ability — he  has  made 
me  his  secretary — and  I  propose  to  show  what  a  woman 
can  do  when  she  is  given  a  fair  chance." 

CUT  to  Scene  7 

SCENE  7. 

RECEPTION  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  5,  Margaret  address- 
ing Leonard.  He  listens  with  a  scowl  of  displeasure  and 
makes  a  gesture  as  if  to  say  "this  is  the  limit,"  but  he  im- 
poses a  restraint  upon  himself  and  addresses  her  seriously. 
She  merely  shrugs  her  shoulders — they  are  drifting  apart — 
and  refuses  to  give  him  the  attention  he  deserves.  He  says 
to  her  with  bitter  significance, 
CUT  to  Scene  8 

SCENE  8. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"You  will  simply  become  the  instrument  of  a  social  system 
so  merciless  that  it  is  behind  the  times.  Do  not  undertake 
that  work,  Margaret  It  is  not  suited  to  a  woman." 

CUT  to  Scene  9 


126  SCREENCRAFT* 

SCENE  9. 

RECEPTION  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  7,  Leonard  speak- 
ing. Margaret  is  indignant.  "I  have  a  right,"  she  claims, 
"to  do  as  I  please."  He  denies  that  she  has  any  right  to  do 
anything  that  she  pleases,  and  a  bitter  quarrel  results  in  her 
pulling  off  an  engagement  ring  and  throwing  it  at  his  feet. 
He  is  so  disgusted  over  what  he  deems  to  be  her  folly  that 
he  does  not  beg  her  to  retract.  He  stands  before  her  in  a 
determined  sort  of  way  and  says, 
CUT  to  Scene  10 

SCENE  10. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"You  may  not  hear  from  me  for  many  long  months,  but  I 
shall  come  back  to  see  if  you  have  recovered  your 
senses." 

CUT  to  Scene  11 

SCENE  11. 

RECEPTION  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  9,  Leonard  speak- 
ing. Both  show  that  they  feel  a  deep  sense  of  personal  in- 
jury. Her  wounded  pride  makes  her  indifferent.  She  ex- 
hibits no  response  when  he  makes  a  slight  movement  toward 
reconciliation.  Her  lips  curl  in  disdain  at  the  thought.  He 
straightens  up  proudly,  hesitates  a  little,  then  he  bows  stiff- 
ly and  leaves  the  room.  Now  show  a  little  of  her  capricious 
character.  The  instant  he  is  gone  she  has  an  impulse  to  re- 
call him — she  even  smiles — then  she  checks  herself  with  a 
grieved  air  that  is  almost  childish.  "He  will  be  sorry," 
she  consoles  herself.  Then  she  feels  a  little  heart  pain — he 
has  always  been  a  good  fellow.  She  picks  up  the  ring  he 
disregarded  and  gazes  at  it  wistfully.  Then  in  response  to 
another  impulse  she  throws  it  after  him  savagely.  She  sits 
down  with  an  air  of  defiance,  but  she  succumbs  to  a  more 
tender  emotion  and  buries  her  face  in  her  arms. 
CUT  to  Scene  12 

SCENE  12. 

BEFORE  MARGARET'S  HOUSE,  exterior.  There  may 
be  a  taxi  in  evidence,  with  the  trunks  of  Leonard  in  it,  but 
this  is  optional.  Martel  is  pacing  up  and  down  when  Leon- 
ard comes  out  of  house  and  joins  him.  He  asks  Martel  to  go 
with  him.  Martel  a  little  embarrassed — he  has  a  call  to  make 
on  his  own  account.  Leonard  asks  him  if  he  is  short  of 
ready  money.  Martel  says  he  has  a  little.  Leonard  presses 
a  bill  upon  him  and  says, 
CUT  to  Scene  13 


A  WORKING  SCENARIO  127 

SCENE  13. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"If  you  are  free  to  leave  for  an  indefinite  period,  meet  me  at 

Dorley's  about  eleven-thirty  prepared  for  the  trip." 
CUT  to  Scene  14 

SCENE  14. 

BEFORE  MARGARET'S  HOUSE,  exterior,  same  as 
Scene  12,  Leonard  addressing  Martel.  Martel  is  deeply 
grateful,  and  he  shows  that  he  is  on  good  terms  with  Leon- 
ard by  putting  his  hand  on  the  latter's  shoulder  when  they 
part.  Martel  goes  one  way,  and  Leonard  either  walks  the 
other,  or  enters  the  cab.  It  should  be  remembered  that  this 
scene  is  to  be  tinted  for  night. 
CUT  to  Scene  15. 

SCENE  15. 

RECEPTION  ROOM.     Margaret  talking  to  servant,  who 
has  just  brought  in  Margaret's  wrap  and  hat.    Margaret  tells 
servant  to  lay  them  aside.    Servant  exits,  and  Margaret  goes 
to  mirror. 
CUT  to  Scene  16 

SCENE  16. 
Screen  Imprint. 

The  District  Attorney. 
CUT  to  Scene  17 

SCENE  17. 

RECEPTION  ROOM.  Same  as  Scene  15.  Margaret  is 
turning  from  mirror,  giving  herself  a  final  adjustment;  she 
advances  smiling  to  greet  the  District  Attorney,  who  enters. 
He  says,  "You  are  looking  lovelier  than  ever  to-night."  She 
laughs  in  matter-of-fact  way.  She  asks  him  to  be  seated. 
"It's  too  early  to  go  out  yet,"  she  remarks,  pointing  to  the 
clock.  "Let's  have  a  little  chat  first."  They  seat  themselves. 
CUT  to  Scene  18 

SCENE  18. 

Screen  Imprint. 

Another  marriage  engagement  broken. 

CUT  to  Scene  19 

SCENE  19. 

SITTING  ROOM.  That  of  Elsie.  Two  doors,  one  to  hall 
and  one  to  dining  room.  Large  sofa  and  fancy  pillows. 


128  SCREENCRAFT 

Small  table  with  ornate  clock.  Unframed  photos  tacked  on 
walls.  Books  and  magazines  on  sofa  and  floor.  Elsie  in  her 
best  dress  is  seated  on  sofa  putting  a  few  touches  to  her 
make-up.  Mrs.  Wiggs,  janitress,  has  placed  a  salad  on  the 
small  table,  and  now  stands  holding  the  tray  on  which  she 
brought  it,  while  regarding  Elsie.  The  latter  realizes  why 
Mrs.  Wiggs  is  waiting;  takes  a  large  roll  of  money  from  her 
bosom,  peels  off  a  bill  and  hands  it  to  Wiggs.  The  latter 
is  very  grateful,  obsequious,  then  leaves  by  the  hall  door. 
CUT  to  Scene  20 

SCENE  20. 

HALL.  Outside  Elsie's  sitting  room.  Show  a  door  at  end 
of  hall  and  a  branch  to  right  or  left.  The  door  leads  to 
where  Wiggs  lives;  the  branch  to  the  street.  Wiggs  starts 
from  door  of  Elsie's  apartment  in  the  foreground,  the  money 
in  her  hand,  and  turns  her  back  on  camera  to  face  her  own 
door.  She  stoops  over  and  places  money  in  her  stocking, 
then  she  goes  to  her  door,  opens  and  enters.  She  is  about 
to  close  the  door  when  Martel  appears  with  a  suitcase  from 
branch  hall  and  goes  to  Elsie's  door.  Mrs.  Wiggs  opens 
enough  to  see  him.  She  makes  a  wry  face  at  him  and  dis- 
appears. 
CUT  to  Scene  21 

SCENE  21. 

SITTING  ROOM.  Elsie  discovered  at  door  when  Martel 
enters.  He  embraces  her  perfunctorily,  while  she  exhibits 
alarm  on  seeing  the  suitcase  and  looks  at  him  questioning 
him  with  her  eyes.  He  sits  down  on  sofa  and  buries  his  face 
in  his  hands,  while  she  puts  suitcase  one  side.  She  regards 
him  pityingly  and  begs  him  to  tell  her  what  is  the  matter. 
He  shakes  his  head  in  silence — he  does  not  want  to  say.  She 
tries  to  cheer  him.  She  says  brightly, 
CUT  to  Scene  22 

SCENE  22. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"If  it  is  only  money,  I  have  a  little  in  the  savings  bank. 

Please  use  that  if  you  need  it." 
CUT  to  Scene  23 

SCENE  23. 

SITTING  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  21,  Elsie  speaking  and 
offering  aid.  Martel  shakes  his  head  sullenly,  then  he  rises 
and  paces  the  floor,  in  doubt  as  to  how  he  may  break  the 
news  of  his  approaching  departure.  She  regards  him  anx- 


A  WORKING  SCENARIO  129 

iously,  almost  timidly,  then  she  tries  to  smile  as  she  goes  to 
the  table  and  arranges  two  chairs.  "See  what  a  nice  salad!" 
she  says  to  him.  She  tries  to  persuade  him  to  sit  down,  but 
he  moves  away  from  her.  He  turns  suddenly  in  desperation 
and  says, 
CUT  to  Scene  24 

SCENE  24. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"I  am  at  the  end  of  my  resources,  and  the  only  chance  I 
have  is  to  go  to  South  America  with  an  old  friend.  I 
can't  say  when  we  will  return,  maybe  not  for  years." 

CUT  to  Scene  25 

SCENE  25. 

SITTING  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  23,  Martel  speaking, 
Elsie  listening  for  an  instant  like  one  stupefied.  The  full 
force  of  such  an  unexpected  announcement  would  not  reach 
her  comprehension  at  once.  She  looks  around  her  in  be- 
wilderment. "Going  away,"  she  repeats  to  herself  as  if  to 
make  sure  that  she  hears  aright.  "Going  away!"  She  tries 
to  smile.  "You  are  only  joking,"  she  says.  "Please  don't 
tease  me  like  that."  But  her  hands  work  nervously  as  she 
sees  no  responsive  smile  on  his  face.  "I  mean  it,"  he  says 
with  determination.  Elsie  looks  around  her  helplessly. 
"What  has  she  been  living  for,  hoping  for,  all  this  time?" 
She  turns  with  sudden  intensity  and  clasps  her  hands  as  if 
she  would  pray  to  him,  but  he  is  unmoved.  She  bows  her 
head  in  supreme  dejection.  He  regards  her  with  pity,  but 
with  no  weakening  of  purpose. 
CUT  to  Scene  26 

SCENE  26. 

HALL.     Wiggs  approaching  Elsie's  door  from  her  own. 
Wiggs  is  timorous  about  being  caught  eavesdropping.     She 
steals  softly  to  door  and  listens. 
CUT  to  Scene  27 

SCENE  27. 

SITTING  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  25,  Martel  regarding 
Elsie  with  pity,  but  with  settled  purpose,  she  bowed  in  su- 
preme dejection.  She  raises  her  head  when  he  moves  to- 
ward suitcase  and  is  roused  to  desperation.  She  interposes 
and  cries  "You  shall  not."  Her  face  is  now  tear-stained,  but 
she  exhibits  strength  in  opposing  him.  She  is  driven  to  des- 
peration by  his  new  attitude,  and  she  begins  to  be  reckless 
of  consequences,  a  desperation  which  reaches  its  climax  later 


130  SCREENCRAFT 

on,  but  which  should  be  shown  now  in  the  strength  she  ex- 
erts.    In  the  struggle  she  loses  her  balance  and  falls.     She 
half  rises  and  cries  out, 
CUT  to  Scene  28 

SCENE  28. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"Don't!     Don't!    You  are  killing  me!" 
CUT  to  Scene  29 

SCENE  29. 

SITTING  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  27,  Elsie  crying  out  to 
Martel,  who  stands  above  her.    This  is  just  a  flash  to  show 
her  uttering  the  words  "You  are  killing  me,"  loud  enough  to 
be  heard  by  one  listening,  a  mere  flash. 
CUT  to  Scene  30 

SCENE  30. 

HALL.    Wiggs  listening  at  door,  quivers  as  if  struck  and 
recoils.     Her  eyes  are  wide   open   with  terror.     She  starts 
back  as  if  going  to  her  own  room,  but  her  curiosity  is  strong- 
er than  her  fear  at  this  moment.    She  listens. 
CUT  to  Scene  31 

SCENE  31. 

SITTING  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  29,  Elsie  on  floor.  Mar- 
tel raises  her  and  argues  in  low  tones.  "Now,  now,  be  rea- 
sonable." She  is  no  longer  reasonable.  She  is  infuriated. 
She  flings  herself  upon  the  suitcase  and  throws  it  open.  She 
starts  to  scatter  its  contents  and  he  to  interfere,  when  she 
finds  a  revolver.  There  is  a  look  of  triumph  on  her  face 
when  she  gets  possession  of  the  weapon,  but  it  is  shortlived. 
She  has  risen  with  the  pistol  in  hand  when  he  seizes  her 
wrists  and  wrenches  it  from  her.  By  this  time  she  is  almost 
hysterical.  She  pats  her  breast  significantly  and  dares  him  to 
shoot  her.  Loudly  she  cries. 
CUT  to  Scene  32 

SCENE  32. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"Shoot  me!    What  do  I  care?    I  have  nothing  to  live  for!" 
CUT  to  Scene  33 

SCENE  33. 

SITTING  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  31,  Elsie  daring  Martel 
to  shoot  her.    She  is  uttering  the  words,  "I  have  nothing  to 
live  for."    A  mere  flash. 
CUT  to  Scene  34 


A  WORKING  SCENARIO  131 

SCENE  34. 

HALL.     Wiggs  has  heard  Elsie  and  fears  that  murder  is 
to  be  committed.     She  hurries  out  by  the  exit  to  street. 
CUT  to  Scene  35 

SCENE  35. 

STREET  CORNER.  Policeman  O'Brien  in  evidence  when 
Wiggs  comes  running  up  to  him  and  declares  excitedly  that 
there  is  a  murder  to  be  committed  in  her  house.  O'Brien  tells 
her  to  go  on  about  her  business.  Wiggs  sticks  to  it  and 
argues  with  O'Brien. 
CUT  to  Scene  36 

SCENE  36. 

SITTING  ROOM.  Martel  lays  revolver  on  mantel  and  at- 
tempts to  bring  Elsie  to  reason.  She  is  beyond  that  kind 
of  reasoning.  She  has  but  one  thought  in  her  mind.  He 
shall  not  go.  She  is  too  quick  for  him  when  he  attempts  to 
pick  up  his  suitcase.  She  winds  her  hand  and  arm  in  the 
handle  so  that  he  cannot  get  it^without  severely  hurting  her. 
He  draws  back  from  the  struggle,  flushed  and  annoyed.  He 
notices  the  little  clock  on  the  table.  Show  the  little  clock  in 
a  close-up — it  is  twenty-five  minutes  past  eleven.  Martel 
yields.  A  struggle  for  the  case  now  means  dangerous  de- 
lay. He  makes  an  angry  gesture  of  the  hand  and  suddenly 
exits.  Elsie  rises  in  high  excitement  and  watches  the  door, 
half-expecting  that  he  will  return. 
CUT  to  Scene  37 

SCENE  37. 

HALL.    Martel  rushing  through  hall  without  suitcase.    He 
hesitates  just  an  instant  at  the  branch  of  the  hallway  and 
looks  back,  then  hurries  on. 
CUT  to  Scene  38 

SCENE  38. 

SITTING  ROOM.     Elsie  falling  to  floor  in  dead  faint. 
CUT  to  Scene  39 

SCENE  39. 

HALL.  Wiggs  has  persuaded  O'Brien  to  enter  the  hall. 
He  reluctantly  follows  her  to  Elsie's  door.  He  listens — 
there  is  naught  but  silence — he  has  no  right  to  enter — he 
turns  away  with  a  bored  expression — he  has  other  work  to 
do.  He  passes  out  by  exit  to  street,  and  Wiggs  goes  to  her 
room. 
CUT  to  Scene  40 


132  SCREENCRAFT 

SCENE  40. 

STUDIO  STREET.  The  street  is  full  of  revelers,  blowing 
horns,  etc.  Martel  rushes  through.  As  he  does  so,  pretty 
girls  jostle  him,  blow  their  horns  in  his  face,  and  try  to  take 
him  by  the  arm.  He  pushes  all  roughly  out  of  the  way  as 
he  rushes  along.  They  laugh  and  call  after  him. 
CUT  to  Scene  41 

SCENE  41. 

RECEPTION  ROOM.  District  Attorney  and  Margaret 
preparing  to  exit.  They  are  rising  and  Margaret  hands  her 
cloak  to  the  District  Attorney  to  place  about  her  shoulders. 
He  does  so  and  then  suddenly  remembers  a  couple  of  horns 
which  he  has  brought  with  him,  and  takes  them  from  his 
overcoat  pocket.  Margaret  laughs  and  tries  one  as  they  leave, 
CUT  to  Scene  42 

SCENE  42. 

DORLEY'S.  It  may  be  a  dancing  cabaret  for  a  large 
ensemble,  according  to  the  director's  judgment.  New  Year's 
decorations  and  boisterous  crowd  in  evidence,  people  too 
much  occupied  with  themselves  to  notice  the  principals  of 
this  story.  Leonard  on  at  opening  of  scene,  and  Martel 
appears  shortly  after  in  a  hurry  with  apologies  for  being 
late.*  The  two  men  are  unknown  to  the  revelers  and  the 
revelers  to  them.  They  take  seats  at  a  table  after  a  cordial 
greeting  and  order  refreshments. 
CUT  to  Scene  43 

SCENE  43. 

SITTING  ROOM.  Elsie  rising  pale  and  weak.  Suddenly 
recollecting  what  has  happened,  she  clutches  at  her  head 
with  one  hand,  her  face  assuming  a  wild,  agonized  expres- 
sion, and  her  other  hand  on  her  breast  which  heaves  with 
emotion.  Then  with  a  quick  movement,  she  throws  herself 
on  the  sofa,  clutching  the  suitcase  in  her  arms,  and  burying 
her  face  in  Martel's  things,  sobbing  in  short,  quick  gasps  at 
intervals. 
CUT  to  Scene  44 

SCENE  44. 

STUDIO  STREET.  O'Brien  discovered  at  his  station  in 
the  foreground.  He  stands  swinging  his  stick  and  looking  at 


*As  Martel  approaches,  Leonard  draws  watch  from  pocket 
and  looks  at  it,  registering  that  Martel  is  late.  Close-up  of 
watch  showing  time  11:30. 


A  WORKING  SCENARIO  133 

the  revelers.  Margaret  and  District  Attorney  come  into 
scene  on  foot,  or  alight  from  an  automobile.  O'Brien  salutes 
the  District  Attorney.  It  is  sufficient  to  show  that  these 
three  are  closely  grouped,  all  engaged  in  watching  the  rev- 
elers. 
CUT  to  Scene  45 

SCENE  45. 

SITTING  ROOM.  Same  as  Scene  43.  Elsie  prostrate  on 
sofa  with  head  on  suitcase,  and  arms  about  it.  She  has 
stopped  sobbing  and  raises  herself  slowly  to  a  sitting  pos- 
ture, looks  at  suitcase.  She  takes  things  out  of  it  one  by 
one  and  kisses  each  with  an  occasional  stifled  sob  as  though 
her  grief  had  almost  spent  itself.  She  then  rises  and  turns 
to  revolver,  and  is  about  to  pick  it  up,  when  she  remembers 
her  money,  takes  it  from  her  bosom,  puts  it  in  an  envelope 
and  exits  to  hall. 
CUT  to  Scene  46 

SCENE  46. 

HALL.  Show  Elsie  with  envelope  in  one  hand  closing  the 
door  behind  her  with  the  other.  She  goes  to  Wiggs'  door 
and  knocks.  Wiggs  comes  to  the  door  winding  her  alarm 
clock.  She  stops  in  the  midst  of  winding  it  to  take  the  en- 
velope handed  her  by  Elsie  who  says, 
CUT  to  Scene  47 

SCENE  47. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"Keep  this  for  me." 
CUT  to  Scene  48 

SCENE  48. 

HALL.  Elsie  speaking,  after  which  she  lays  her  fingers  on 
her  lips.  Wiggs  looks  at  envelope  curiously,  as  Elsie  enters 
her  own  door  and  closes  it,  after  which  Wiggs  continues 
more  slowly  winding  the  clock.  She  glances  at  the  face  of 
the  clock.  Show  a  close-up  of  clock  with  hands  pointing  a 
quarter  of  twelve.  She  looks  with  perplexed  expression  to- 
ward Elsie's  door  and  listens.  She  thinks  Martel  is  still  there. 
CUT  to  Scene  49 

SCENE  49. 

SITTING  ROOM.  Elsie,  pale  and  tear-stained,  is  standing 
near  the  door  which  she  has  just  closed.  She  then  staggers 
to  table,  looks  at  revolver;  with  effort  and  an  attempt  to  be 
determined  she  picks  up  revolver,  and  drops  it  again,  look- 
ing from  her  hand  which  she  keeps  still  in  the  same  posi- 


134  SCREENCRAFT 

tion  as  when  she  dropped  the  revolver,  to  revolver  with  ex- 
pression of  terror,  and  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling.  "I 
can't!  I  can't"  she  exclaims,  wringing  her  hands.  She  tries 
to  steel  herself  against  her  own  weakness,  straightening  up 
and  becoming  momentarily  calm.  She  turns  to  sofa  and  her 
eyes  fall  on  Martel's  clothes.  As  she  starts  replacing  them  in 
the  suitcase  again  she  commences  sobbing  as  before,  her 
whole  body  becomes  convulsed  and  trembles  with  her  sobs. 
In  a  moment  of  supreme  despair  she  staggers  to  the  table, 
picks  up  the  revolver  and  presses  the  muzzle  against  her 
heart. 

Note — Have  Elsie  turn  out  the  light  so  that  just  the  flash 
of  the  shot  can  be  seen  in  the  dark. 
CUT  to  Scene  50 

SCENE  50. 

HALL.  Wiggs  standing  near  Elsie's  door.  She  is  looking 
at  the  door  curiously,  has  head  twisted  on  one  side  so  as  to 
be  able  to  hear  better,  but  jumps  back  almost  the  same  in- 
stant, throwing  up  her  hands  in  horror  and  rushing  to  her 
own  door.  There  she  stands  trembling  with  hand  on  the 
knob  looking  back  at  Elsie's  door.  As  no  one  comes  from 
the  door  it  finally  occurs  to  Wiggs  that  she  should  notify 
the  police,  and  she  dashes  out  of  passageway. 
CUT  to  Scene  51 

SCENE  51. 

STUDIO  STREET.    Just  a  flash  to  show  where  the  char- 
acters are  at  this  time.    Revelry  at  its  height. 
CUT  to  Scene  52 

SCENE  52. 

DORLEY'S.  Leonard  and  Martel  toasting  each  other.* 
Revelry  at  its  height.  In  expression  of  his  good  will,  Leon- 
ard takes  out  money  and  gives  several  bills  to  Martel.  The 
latter  is  jubilant.  He  is  now  sure  that  he  is  to  go  with  Leon- 
ard. They  prepare  to  go,  but  Martel  is  to  go  first  and  alone. 
Before  leaving  he  says, 

*Leonard  looks  at  his  watch,  close-up  of  watch  showing 
hour  is  12  o'clock. 
CUT  to  Scene  53 

SCENE  53. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"I  must  get  my  suitcase.    Then  I  will  join  you  at  the  dock." 
Note— This  may  be  followed  by  a  slice  of  Scene  52,  show- 
ing in  a  flash  that  the  men  part. 
CUT  to  Scene  54 


A  WORKING  SCENARIO  135 

SCENE  54. 

STUDIO  STREET.  Revelry  of  the  maddest  sort 
O'Brien,  Margaret  and  District  Attorney  together  when 
Wiggs  rushes  to  them  gesticulating  violently.  O'Brien  finds 
it  difficult  to  hear  what  she  says,  so  great  is  the  din,  but  the 
others  become  interested,  Margaret  taking  pity  on  the  ex- 
cited woman.  She  begs  District  Attorney  and  Policeman  to 
listen.  <v 

CUT  to  Scene  55 

SCENE  55. 

HALL.    Martel  comes  along,  his  expression  brighter.    He 
is  smiling  to  himself,  as  much  as  to  say,  "I'll  straighten  things 
out  so  that  she  won't  mind  so  much."    He  knocks  at  Elsie's 
door  with  one  hand  on  the  knob. 
CUT  to  Scene  56 

SCENE  56. 

SITTING  ROOM.  Elsie  is  lying  dead  or  dying,  on  the 
floor,  the  revolver  near  her  hand.  Martel  enters  with  a 
smile  on  his  face — he  has  a  new  plan  in  mind,  and  he  starts 
toward  the  suitcase,  but  halts  in  alarm  on  seeing  Elsie.  He 
kneels  down  beside  her  in  terrible  agitation.  He  attempts 
to  stop  the  flow  of  blood  from  a  wound  in  her  breast. 
Whether  she  is  dead  or  dying  he  does  not  know  at  this  mo- 
ment of  discovery.  He  calls  her  name  frantically. 

Note — Room  is  dark  when  Martel  enters.     He  turns  on 
lights. 
CUT  to  Scene  57 

SCENE  57. 

STUDIO  STREET.  Wiggs  has  convinced  O'Brien  that 
something  must  be  wrong,  and  he  is  leaving  with  her. 
Wiggs  is  still  chattering  excitedly.  Margaret  laying  her 
hand  on  the  District  Attorney's  arm  says,  "Let  us  go  and 
see  what  the  matter  is."  They  follow. 
CUT  to  Scene  58 

SCENE  58. 

SITTING  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  56.  Martel  kneeling  by 
Elsie  and  calling  her  name  while  trying  to  stop  flow  of 
blood  from  her  wound.  He  rises  in  tremendous  agitation. 
On  one  hand  is  the  necessity  of  joining  Leonard  at  the  dock. 
On  the  other  a  possibility  that  Elsie  may  not  have  expired. 
(It  sometimes  takes  an  expert  to  pronounce  upon  life  and 
death  in  such  cases,  and  this  man  is  far  from  being  an  ex- 
pert, besides  being  in  a  bewildered  state  of  mind.)  In  his 


136  SCREENCRAFT 

wavering  he  picks  up  the  weapon  and  lays  it  on  the  table. 
He  decides.  He  must  go  for  help.  He  starts  toward  door. 
His  leaving  case  behind  indicates  his  purpose,  but,  if  it  is  not 
clear  enough,  an  imprint  can  be  interposed,  though  it  is  a 
poor  time  for  explanatory  imprints  in  the  midst  of  a  tragic 
scene.  He  is  starting  for  the  door  on  a  mission  which 
should  be  obvious,  as  he  disregards  the  suitcase. 
CUT  to  Scene  59 

SCENE  59. 

HALL.  Must  be  timed  carefully.  Just  as  Martel  is  leav- 
ing the  door  of  Elsie's  room,  Wiggs  and  O'Brien  appear  at 
the  branch  passage  followed  by  the  District  Attorney  and 
Margaret.  Martel  at  sight  of  them  hesitates,  turns  back 
and  rushes  toward  Elsie's  door,  O'Brien  running  swiftly 
after  him. 
CUT  to  Scene  60 

SCENE  60. 

SITTING  ROOM.  Martel,  anxious  to  escape,  is  overpow- 
ered in  a  struggle  with  O'Brien.  This  is  necessary  to  more 
deeply  incriminate  him.  The  distracted  man  may  have  only 
thought  of  his  original  purpose,  but  the  main  idea  is  to 
show  his  attempt  to  escape.  Margaret  and  District  Attorney 
go  to  the  body  of  Elsie.  Margaret  looks  on  with  profound 
pity  while  District  Attorney  makes  an  examination.  This 
action  might  be  carried  on  in  conjunction  with  the  hand- 
cuffing of  Martel  by  the  policeman.  District  Attorney  rises 
and  pronounces  Elsie  dead.  Margaret  nearly  overcome. 
Policeman  secures  the  pistol.  Margaret  rouses  from  indig- 
nation when  District  Attorney  names  Martel  as  the  mur- 
derer, Wiggs  sustaining  the  denunciation.  Margaret  says 
to  Martel,  "You  deserve  the  worst  the  law  can  give  you." 
Martel  makes  but  a  faint  protest.  A  man  in  his  condition 
might  resist,  but  he  is  surrounded  by  those  who  believe 
him  guilty,  and  so  overcome  by  the  swift  whirl  of  events 
that  he  would  not  be  at  his  best.  The  innocent  often  act 
more  guilty  than  do  hardened  criminals  who  have  crimes 
to  conceal  and  put  up  a  front.  Martel  is  led  away  under 
arrest.  Margaret,  after  a  pitying  glance  at  Elsie  is  induced 
to  leave  by  the  District  Attorney.  This  scene  may  be  ended 
at  the  discretion  of  the  director. 
CUT  to  Scene  61 

SCENE  61. 

THE  DOCKS.    This  scene  is  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing.    Tint  night.     Leonard  has  been  waiting   a  long  time. 


A  WORKING  SCENARIO  137 

He  glances  at  his  watch,  shrugs  his  shoulders,  yawns  and 
concludes  that  Martel  has  given  up  the  trip.     He  glances 
around  and  leaves  for  the  boat. 
CUT  to  Scene  62 

SCENE  62. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"January  Second." 
CUT  to  Scene  63 

SCENE  63. 

DISTRICT  ATTORNEY'S  OFFICE.  District  Attorney 
and  Margaret  concluding  an  examination  of  Wiggs  and 
O'Brien.  Margaret  is  especially  keen  in  suggesting,  or  ask- 
ing, questions.  Show  that  she  is  a  factor  in  the  examina- 
tion. She,  Wiggs  and  District  Attorney  are  in  a  change 
of  dress.  District  Attorney  concludes  the  examination  and 
directs  attendant  to  usher  the  witnesses  from  room.  When 
they  have  gone,  he  turns  to  Margaret  with  professional  tri- 
umph and  says, 
CUT  to  Scene  64 

SCENE  64. 
Screen   Imprint. 

"He  will  attempt  to  prove  an  alibi — that  is  the  usual  thing 
— but  our  evidence  is  so  overwhelming  that  we  should 
make  this  a  record-breaking  case." 

CUT  to  Scene  65 

SCENE  65. 

DISTRICT  ATTORNEY'S  OFFICE,  same  as  Scene  63. 
District  Attorney  speaking.  Margaret  shares  his  enthusi- 
asm, but  does  not  notice  that  it  greatly  concerns  her.  She 
turns  to  her  work  of  arranging  the  papers  with  enthusiasm, 
while  he  regards  her  with  admiration.  Her  interest  is  large- 
ly in  her  work.  His  interest  is  in  making  an  impression 
on  her. 
CUT  to  Scene  66 

SCENE  66. 

Screen   Imprint. 

After  a  lame  defense,  Martel  is  convicted  of  murder  in  the 

first  degree. 
CUT  to  Scene  67 

SCENE  67. 

COURT  ROOM,  or  such  a  portion  as  will  show  the  prin- 
cipals.    Foreman  announces  verdict.     Show  a  small  scope, 


138  SCREENCRAFT 

as  small  as  will  include  Mattel  and  Margaret.  She  is  look- 
ing at  him  with  an  air  of  virtuous  indignation,  when  he 
turns  and  looks  at  her.  Show  a  very  small  scope,  a  close- 
up  of  Martel  alone.  His  face  has  a  new  dignity,  a  noble 
sense  of  right,  and  he  stares  at  camera  (this  is  as  she  sees 
hun)  with  reproach  akin  to  indignation.  Show  her  in  the 
same  kind  of  close-up,  first  staring  with  indignation,  then 
uneasy,  then  highly  nervous,  then  unable  to  withstand  his 
gaze.  Now  give  the  sentence  in  large  scope  and  subse- 
quent congratulations  for  the  District  Attorney'  if  this  be 
deemed  of  value.  The  main  thing  is  to  bring  out  that  the 
convicted  man's  attitude  has  aroused  uncertainty  in  the 
mind  of  Margaret.  Her  attitude  must  be  grave  thereafter. 
CUT  to  Scene  68 

SCENE   68. 
Screen  Imprint. 

A  Last  Appeal. 
CUT  to  Scene  69 

SCENE  69. 

DEATH  HOUSE  CELL.  Martel  writing  on  a  block  of 
paper  with  a  pencil.  He  is  calm  and  dignified.  He  folds 
his  communication,  addresses  it  and  hands  it  to  Attendant. 
He  paces  the  floor  when  alone,  not  with  agitation,  but  in 
thought.  Then  he  kneels  down  and  RAISES  his  face  in  a 
prayer  to  his  Maker,  a  face  on  which  there  is  no  sign  of 
fear. 
CUT  to  Scene  70 

SCENE  70. 

DISTRICT  ATTORNEY'S  OFFICE.  District  Attorney 
discovered  at  his  desk,  facing  camera,  in  a  new  suit.  He 
is  feeling  rather  fine,  on  the  way  to  larger  success,  when 
Margaret  enters  in  a  change  of  costume.  She  has  an  open 
letter  in  her  hand  and  shows  it  to  District  Attorney,  with 
agitation.  He  reads  the  letter. 
CUT  to  Scene  71 

SCENE    71. 
Screen    Imprint. 

Part  of  letter  in  Mattel's  writing. 

"Only  Leonard  knows  that  I  am  innocent.     He  was  with 
me  from  11:30  until  after  midnight.     Why  not  give  me 
a  chance  by  waiting  until  he  comes  back?" 
CUT  to  Scene  72 


A  WORKING  SCENARIO  139 

SCENE  72. 

DISTRICT  ATTORNEY'S  OFFICE,  same  as  Scene  70. 
District  Attorney  reading.  Margaret  watches  him  with  high 
anxiety,  but  he  only  smiles  contemptuously.  The  evidence 
was  overwhelming;  the  appeal  is  merely  one  to  gain  time. 
She  is  not  sure  about  that.  She  makes  a  brave  little  ar- 
gument to  defer  execution,  but  he  is  not  impressed.  He 
explains  to  her  with  an  air  that  is  slightly  patronizing — she 
is  too  inexperienced — saying, 
CUT  to  Scene  73 

SCENE  73. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"I  never  yet  convicted  a  man  who  did  not  claim  that  he 
was  innocent.  I  can  do  nothing  now — the  highest  courts 
have  upheld  the  conviction," 

CUT  to  Scene  74 

SCENE  74. 

DISTRICT  ATTORNEY'S  OFFICE,  same  as  Scene  72, 
District  Attorney  speaking.  Whether  he  rises  like  a  gen- 
tleman, or  remains  in  his  chair,  his  air  is  that  of  a  man  fully 
conscious  of  his  superiority  to  the  capricious  girl.  For  an 
instant  she  is  impressed  by  his  attitude — it  is  almost  con- 
vincing, but  her  natural  compassion  asserts  itself.  She 
pleads.  He  turns  cold — it  is  impossible.  Now  there  is  a 
sudden  conversion.  She  bursts  into  a  fury  and  expresses 
her  disgust  for  the  office  and  all  that  pertains  to  it.  He  is 
at  first  amused  and  then  offended.  She  draws  a  line.  "I 
am  through,"  she  asserts.  He  bows.  "I  accept  your  resig- 
nation." She  turns  her  back  on  him  and  leaves  the  room. 
He  sits  down  to  work  with  an  amused  expression  on  his 
face — it  is  all  in  a  lifetime. 
CUT  to  Scene  75 

SCENE   75. 
Screen  Imprint. 

And  then,  one  day 
CUT  to  Scene  76 

SCENE  76. 

DEATH  HOUSE  CELL.  Martel  waiting  when  his  cell 
door  opens,  and  the  Warden  enters  to  tell  him  that  the  last 
moment  has  come.  Martel  rises  to  his  greatest  height,  his 
chest  expanded  and  points  on  high.  "There  is  One,"  he 
says  bravely,  "Who  knows  I  am  innocent."  He  clasps  one 


140  SCREENCRAFT 

hand  on  his  heart,  glances  up  with  a  breathed  prayer  and 
submits  to  his  fate,  passing  out  in  resignation. 
CUT  to  Scene  77 

SCENE  77. 
Screen  Imprint. 

Leonard  Returns  After  a  Period  of  Several  Months. 
CUT  to  Scene  78 

SCENE   78. 

THE  DOCKS.  Leonard  coming  out  of  dock  entrance 
among  other  passengers.  He  carries  a  suitcase.  He  gives 
a  taxicab  driver  his  suitcase,  and  calling  a  newsboy,  buys 
paper  and  is  startled  by  the  headlines.  His  eyes  open  wide 
as  he  reads — 
CUT  to  Scene  79 

SCENE   79. 
Screen  Imprint. 

Exhibit  of  Newspaper  Headline. 

EDWIN  MARTEL  PAYS  PENALTY. 

Convicted  Murderer  Dies  in  Chair  Without  Confession. 

STRANGE    CASE   FULLY    PROVED. 
Murderer   Claimed  Alibi  Through   John   Leonard  Absent 

on  Voyage. 
CUT  to  Scene  80 

SCENE  80. 

THE  DOCKS.     Show  Leonard  thinking  after  reading  pa- 
per.    He  makes  a  decision  and  gives  chauffeur  careful  in- 
structions. 
CUT  to  Scene  81 

SCENE  81. 

RECEPTION  ROOM.  Margaret  enters  in  a  condition 
verging  on  collapse.  She  is  pale  and  shows  that  she  has 
lost  sleep.  She  has  a  book,  and  she  makes  an  attempt  to 
read,  but  she  seems  to  feel  a  haunting  presence.  She  drops 
the  book  and  shudders.  She  rises  and  paces  the  floor  ner- 
vously, and  she  is  so  engaged  when  servant  announces 
Leonard.  Before  Margaret  can  recover  her  self-control, 
while  she  is  yet  dazed  by  the  announcement,  Leonard  pushes 
in  newspaper  in  hand.  Servant  exits.  Margaret  is  tremb- 
ling when  Leonard  points  to  the  article  and  asks  if  she 
participated  in  that  conviction.  She  admits  in  terror  that 
she  did,  but  explains  that  she  tried  her  best  to  get  a  delay. 


A  WORKING  SCENARIO  141 

She  pulls  Mattel's  letter  from  her  waist,  or  pocket,  and  ex- 
tends it.     Leonard  glances  at  it.    He  scowls  deeply  and  de- 
nounces her.     He  says, 
CUT  to  Scene  82 

SCENE  82. 
Screen  Imprint. 

"He  was  innocent,  but  delay  was  a  question  of  costs,  not  of 

justice,  and  he  was  a  poor  man." 

Note — Here  is  the  whole  theme  in  a  nutshell.    L.  R.  H. 
CUT  to  Scene  83 

SCENE  83. 

RECEPTION  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  81,  Leonard  scowl- 
ing as  he  denounces  Margaret.  She  recoils,  her  eyes  open 
wide  with  horror,  then  she  shivers  from  head  to  feet,  tot- 
ters and  falls,  burying  her  face  in  her  arms.  He  stands  stern 
and  unrelenting,  not  even  looking  at  her — he  is  thinking  of 
Martel.  Now  show  him  in  a  close-up,  with  a  background  for 
double  exposure.  He  stands  facing  the  camera  without  mo- 
tion or  emotion,  his  face  set  in  hard  lines-  Then  appears  by 
double  exposure  the  figure  of  Martel,  a  compassionate  ex- 
pression on  his  face.  He  may  lay  one  hand  on  Leonard's 
shoulder.  He  points  to  where  Margaret  is  supposed  to  be 
lying  and  expostulates.  "Don't  be  hard  on  her.  She  knew 
not  what  she  was  doing."  The  hard  expression  on  Leon- 
ard's face  relaxes,  and  he  sighs.  Martel  vanishes.  Now  in 
large  scope,  show  Leonard  looking  down  on  Margaret  with 
more  compassion.  He  says, 
CUT  to  Scene  84 

SCENE  84 
Screen  Imprint. 

"After  all,  you  were  but  the  instrument  of  a  social  system 
out  of  accord  with  our  ideals,  in  that  it  rarely  accords 
full  justice  to  the  poor,  who  need  it  most." 

CUT  to  Scene  85 

SCENE  85. 

RECEPTION  ROOM,  same  as  Scene  83,  Leonard  speak- 
ing and  regarding  Margaret  with  compassion. 
Dissolve  into  Who's  Guilty? 


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THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

v2f"c!"oE  ASSESSED   FOR   FAILURE  TO   RETURN 

W"L!  *HC£  °N  THE  °ATE  DUE*  THE  PENALTY 

AY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  HAV 
OVERDUE. 


HiB  10  1941 


BFfi,  CIR.  rrr.  I  9 


m  1-4971 


/o 


773623 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


